Whumptober 2019
by MissTinfoilHat
Summary: These are my contributions to Whuptober 2019. I can't promise I'll be able to update every day, but I'll try to post a one-shot for every prompt sometime during October (and November, December, January... April... depending on when inspiration strikes). There miiight be some other fandoms in here- but right now- I'm enjoying writing BSD. Mostly Dazai-centric.
1. Shaky Hands

This had become a completely off day. No matter what Dazai did, he couldn't seem to focus. The world was as if seen through someone else's eyes, like, he wasn't really there. All colors were off, looking bleak in a blurry picture. Voices around him muffled together, and there was no way to concentrate on one voice. Did everyone need to talk at the same time?

He hadn't been able to sleep last night. That was probably why he felt so out of it. Also, he skipped breakfast and had three cups of coffee instead. That would be another bad desition he'd made that day.

There was also the lingering dread in the pit of his stomach after last night's debriefing.

The Armed Detective Agency had a new mission. A group of ability-using human traffickers that had been abducting children all over Asia for tens of years were rumored to be developing a base in Yokohama.

The boxes upon boxes of files about the case had told them that one man had been on their tale for years before all information stopped coming in.

A man with a name that Dazai knew very well. A name he had buried together with a different life years ago, together with the man himself.

The skeleton of his life as a Port Mafia executive had resurfaced some time ago, but one particular part of it had remained a hidden, sacred, exclusive part of that life.

Odasaku.

A loud clirring noise startled Dazai violently out of his musings. He shook his head and grabbed the pale wooden table in front of him, anchoring himself back in the now.

Sheepishly, he urged his gaze up from the table surface and his tight grip and looked at the combination of confused and concerned stares aimed at him.

Had he missed something?

"So, you finally decided to pay attention?" Kunikida huffed, holding the offending tea-cup in a tight grasp, resting it on its platter.

Dazai looked bewilderedly at him, clear, dark eyes wide with innocence as he leaned on his elbows, folding one bandaged hand over the other and rested his chin on them perplexed and gave the man a close-eyed smile.

"Are you okay Dazai-san?" Atsushi's earnest voice was filled with perturbation.

Dazai's smile slipped immediately, as he moved his head sluggishly in the boy-tiger's direction. For a couple of seconds, he just stared, before managing to snap out of his empty state.

His eye crinkled and mouth contorted into a wide grin as he singsonged, "of course," just as he usually did.

But, for some reason, their eyes didn't avert from him. Uncertainly, Dazai's smile stiffened a little, running his eyes from one person to the other before adding, "why do you ask?"

"It's just," Atsushi started with a weary curve to his eyebrow, "...your hands are shaking."

"Huh?" escaped from Dazai's throat, before he slowly, but surely realized how strained the grasp he had around his other hand was. His gaze slowly fell to them, realizing that, yes, they were in fact shaking. Uncontrollably so. The muscle strain was almost painful as he let go of the offending limbs and instinctively hid them under the table.

"Yeah," he said sheepishly, trying to smile his way past the moment, hoping that somehow, it would look real and make them... just lose interest.

"Yeah?" Kunikida questioned skeptically.

"Yes," Dazai confirmed, internally screaming for them all to just let it go.

Kunikida blinked a couple of times. Dazai knew that look- he was holding back, and Dazai was eternally grateful when the idealistic man rolled his eyes and kept talking about the mission, quickly distracting the others.

Still, wary eyes glanced towards him from time to time, but he did his best to ignore them.

* * *

The meeting was finally over, and Dazai breathed out in relief. Nobody had commented on his involuntarily shaking hands or restless legs after the initial incident. Not that they didn't notice- hell, Dazai had tried his best to hide it but weren't even able to convince himself that he was okay.

Well, at least nobody had said anythi...

"What do you know about Sakunosuke Oda?"

Ranpo was suddenly standing right in front of him, pointing an accusing index finger towards him.

It took every inch of restain that Dazai had in his body not to flinch. Dumbly, he stared on the short detective, face completely blank. Ranpo was brilliant, but he was still going to do his darndest too keep Oda were he needed him to be. In the past.

"Who?" Dazai asked instead. If even possible, Ranpo's eyes narrowed even more than they already were. He chewed on his bottom lip, unconvinced of Dazai's lie and relaxed attitude.

"Don't play dumb with me, baka-"

Before he was able to finish, Dazai grabbed his elbow tightly and dragged the vertically challenged investigator out of their office landscape and out in the hallway.

Dazai looked exasperated on his elder, who was grinning triumphantly. No one could measure with Ranpo's intuition and cleverness, except maybe, Dazai.

Still, Ranpo always felt great satisfaction whenever he was able to outsmart the younger ex-mafioso.

"How much do you know?" Dazai asked no-nonsensically.

"Enough," Ranpo shrugged. Chocolate brown eyes assessed him carefully, clearly trying to see through any bullshit. Ranpo decided to elaborate.

"I started to notice already last night. You seemed bored out of your mind until the name Sakunosuke Oda was mentioned. It was only a twitch in your eyebrow, but I noticed. After that, the lack of complains about how late it was and how tired you were told me that you, in spite of your best efforts, were actually paying attention. Something was definitely off. You obviously haven't slept since then- anyone could figure that out-"

"Yeah, yeah," Dazai interrupted sourly. He already knew all this. Apparently, the shock of hearing someone within the agency say Oda's name out loud had made him uncareful.

Still, somehow, he didn't have the energy to even care. All he actually wanted was to go to Oda's gravesite and talk about it.

"I also deducted that this Oda-character meant a lot to you," Ranpo murmured, in a rare moment of compassion. Dazai paused at that.

"But," Ranpo added after a moment. "Anything you can tell us about him will help the investigation tremedelessly. Why did he go off the grid four years ago?"

A hurt shimmering to Dazai's eyes told Ranpo everything he needed to know.

"I see... So, he died," Ranpo stated, only needing Dazai's pained expression to confirm it. "Did this group have something to do with it?"

Dazai was looking away. He didn't want to talk about this, but he also knew that the only way to get Ranpo to quit asking uncomfortable questions was to answer them. These questions would only grow increasingly unbearable if Ranpo needed to dig deeper for the answers.

"No," Dazai finally answered. "Odasaku's death was unrelated to that."

A nod was all he got in reply. That was really the only thing they needed to know about why Oda wasn't still actively pursuing this group.

There was a long, pressing silence after that. Apparently, Ranpo finally felt the real reluctance Dazai had to talk about this. It seemed to actually, really hurt him.

Guilt wasn't something Ranpo necessarily cared to dwell on. He needed a distraction. Something to get the severity out of the situation.

"So, how bad do you want me to keep secret how I was able to find out these things?" he asked, crisscrossing his arms against his chest and chuckling light-heartedly.

"Pretty bad, actually," Dazai answered honestly with a mellow voice. Chestnut orbs were glinting sorrowfully, still, with a hint of a small, crooked smile on the edge of his mouth. He knew that this wasn't mean-spirited.

"Oh, it will cost you," Ranpo assured.

"I will restock your entire candy storage," Dazai replied, dead serious.

Ranpo thought about it for a while. His expression was grave. This could mean great things after all before he finally decided.

"Deal."

* * *

Without the threat of being outed by Ranpo, Dazai continued his usual workday, which mainly consisted of lying on the couch, waiting for a "revelation" or picking on Kunikida.

He tried his absolute best to hide how his body was still severely tense. In all honesty, he had thought that being out of that meeting, knowing that nobody, except Ranpo, had figured out his affiliation to Oda, and not hearing that name spoken out loud for a couple of hours, would make it better.

In fact, it probably only made it worse. Kunikida hadn't even pestered him about (seemingly) napping on the couch for the better part of the day. Everybody really just went about their day, shooting worried glances towards him from time to time which he chose to ignore.

Only an hour before he could go home, Fukuzawa entered the room and asked to speak to him in private.

Good job on keeping my secret, Ranpo.

Dazai silently complied, following Fukuzawa to his office with curious eyes following them.

Once inside the ADA president's office, Dazai got seated on the chair opposite of Fukuzawa.

"I talked with Ranpo," said Fukuzawa solemnly. "I've decided to take you off this mission. You don't have to say anything. Pack your stuff up and go home for the weekend and get some much-needed rest."

Dazai took him on his word, not uttering a single word before he calmly nodded towards his superior and got back up and did exactly what Fukuzawa asked of him. He returned to the office space and packed his notes and laptop and disappeared into several days off work before anyone even realized he was gone.

* * *

The Monday after, the mission had been successfully executed and the human traffickers were finally behind bars, mainly based on Oda's research before his demise.

Dazai was eternally proud of his old friend for the work he had done. He had no idea when in the Port Mafia that Oda had been working on this, while still regretful that he hadn't shared it with him. This wasn't a part of the work he had done for the Port Mafia, so he had obviously been working on it in his spare time.

Maybe everything could have been solved sooner if Oda felt like he could share this with him. But, Oda probably felt that this was too close to home for Dazai.

He had been one of the only people who actually knew how Mori had really got the hold of him after all.

In the end, Dazai was only happy that this whole case was over and done with now, and that he didn't have to deal anymore with it than he already had.

But, apparently, it wasn't completely done with yet.

Ranpo stood infuriated in front of him, as close to his face as possible without actually touching.

"Where's my candy?" he demanded furiously, fists clenched tightly by his side and looking as intimidating as he possibly could.

"Your candy? I didn't get you any," Dazai answered, none-bothered.

"And why is that?" Ranpo's voice rose several decibels, catching a couple of confused stares across the room.

"Well, to my understanding, I was only supposed to buy you candy if you held your mouth shut."

Ranpo's emerald green eyes widened considerably. "I didn't-" he roared, but realized his mistake.

For some reason- telling Fukuzawa, who was like a father to him, hadn't really registered to Ranpo as telling anyone. But, he did realize how this had gone wrong. Because it wasn't like that for Dazai.

"I didn't tell anyone," Ranpo sulked half-heartedly. He knew he lied- he only wished he had realized that on Friday before he emptied his storage entirely.

"Yeah, you did," Dazai shrugged, unfeeling. Hopefully, Ranpo couldn't deduct the slightly entertained feeling he had as he told him.

"I... I..." Ranpo stuttered.

He didn't know the way to the store- he had already finished his last lollipop- this wasn't happening- this wasn't real...

Dazai smiled at him reassuringly, holding a hand to his shoulder.

"I'm sure you can find your way to the store by your genius self," he smiled in a feigned matter and squeezed the shoulder reassuringly before turning his back on the detective.

Ranpo was left speechless, as Dazai returned to his work-desk.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Dazai was finished with the report he was working on. He swung his office-chair around, catching Ranpo, seated on the couch in the back of the office.

_His hands were shaking._


	2. Explosion & Delirium

**Don't hesitate to send over any suggestions for the other prompts. You can leave a comment/message me, or send me a message on tumblr (misstinfoilhat).**

**This story is a combination of prompts 2 and 3, Explosion and delirium.  
**

* * *

**#2: Explosion**

The abandoned construction site seemed eerily quiet. The Armed Detective agency already knew that they were walking into a trap, but had no idea what would possibly happen once there.

They were prepared for an ambush. It was a great risk, but their best strategy to lure this shady group of ability users out of their hiding was to humor the fake lead the group had left out for them, and show up to the instructed site.

"Stay low, keep your backs close together or near a wall. Don't let yourself get blindsided," Kunikida instructed quietly, weapon raised and hiding behind the rubbles of a concrete wall. The agency followed closely.

Intentive eyes scanned the area, looking for any movements, listening for any sounds.

It was dead quiet.

After a while of investigating, they all came to the same conclusion; there was absolutely nobody there. This had probably just been another decoy, keeping them occupied and leaving the group free to set up another terror attack against Yokohama and its innocent civilians.

Except, if that had been the case, why hadn't they gotten any news of it yet?

Something suspicious was definitely going on, and now, they needed to figure out why they had been brought there.

They were all standing around, discussing their next move when Atsushi froze. His head perched up, catching the attention of Kunikida.

"What's wrong?" he asked, alerting the other members. Atsushi hushed at them, concentrating his superior feline hearing fiercely, trying to figure out what he was hearing. Everyone was watching him, waiting guardedly for his assessment.

Finally, Atsushi's complexion paled into sickly gray, dual-colored eyes widening unnaturally large.

"Get down!" he shouted, loud enough to make his voice crack. The slow beeping was becoming more rapid, and he finally recognized the tell-tale sound of an active bomb.

He grabbed Kyouka elbow and dragged her along as far away as he could before they got down underneath a stone plate with heavy beams laying discarded on top of it, raised slightly off the ground by rubbles and pieces of broken building materials.

Before taking cover, he had seen Tanizaki drag Naomi and Kenji along in the other direction towards a similar structure. Ranpo had luckily been left to help out at the police station, he would probably have been the most useless in a situation like this, and Yosano was on call, safely back at the offices in case anybody needed medical attention when they returned.

Kunikida and Dazai lingered a little behind but seemed to be on the move as well.

In what felt like an eternity later, the explosion finally occurred. The loud noise was overwhelmingly consuming. Only the pure pressure of the blast felt like a rockslide of punches.

Atsushi held Kyouka protective underneath him, shielding her from the worst of it. Rocks and debris rained upon them, and the piece they were hiding under cracked in the eruption.

When it all stilled, all that was left was a sickening silence, only disturbed by the high-pitched ringing in Atsushi's ears.

"Are you okay?" Kyouka asked shakenly from under him.

"Yeah, I think so. Are you?"

She gave him a small nod, looking frightened and relieved at the same time.

"Stay here," Atsushi directed, and carefully started to crawl out of their hiding spot.

The scene that met him was the absolute chaos of broken concrete and small fires. The dust laid like a thick blanket over their surroundings, and he felt his lungs burn when inhaling it.

About 100 meters away, he saw Tanizaki help his sister out from their hiding spot. He was bleeding from a small cut on his head, but looked otherwise unharmed. Kenji followed closely behind Naomi, also bruised, but didn't seem to have any problems moving around.

A bit closer to where he was standing, closer to the initial explosion, he saw Kunikida brush some dirt off his pants and vest with an angry furrow between his eyes. Dazai stood beside him, leaning heavily against a brick-wall that the blow had been unable to knock down, clutching at his side.

They were all okay.

"Is anybody hurt?" Kunikida stressed, peering at his coworkers as they approached.

"We're okay," Tanizaki declared, with Naomi gushing over the gash in his forehead. He tried to keep her from invading his personal space too much but clearly failed miserably as hands and comforting kisses trailed all over him.

"We're okay too," Atsushi answered, pulling Kyouka out of the relics by her hand.

Kunikida turned to his partner, looking sternly at him.

"Dazai?" he asked, waiting for the bandaged man to give him his status.

"I'll be fine," Dazai croaked out, a bit strained. That would have to do.

Kunikida glanced at his phone, moaning his annoyance and pocketed it again. "There's no cellphone coverage here. We need to get out, there's no way of knowing what other traps they might have laid out."

Kunikida had quickly stepped back into his role as the group leader. Nobody was going to argue with him over it.

To keep any panic at bay as long as possible, he held back his inklings that the building might not be as structurally sound as it had been when they entered anymore.

"It seems we have to start digging," Kenji thought out loud, looking at the piles of fallen stone in front of the main entrance. Defeated sighs were uttered from the small group at the realization that their next problem would be that the gate had collapsed.

"Tanizaki, I'd like you to go dig over there." Kunikida pointed in the other direction. "The piles are smaller there, and there's likely to be an emergency exit somewhere. The rest of us starts working with the main entrance."

With a couple of individual tasks given, they all got to work. Only Dazai lingered behind, not moving from his crouched position or releasing the tight grip on his abdomen.

"Don't tell me you're going to be a lazy asshole at a time like this," Kunikida growled and marched over to him with his fist raised in warning.

Dazai looked at him blankly. It didn't look like he understood what was going on, and his pallor was starting to look a bit off.

"I think I've been shot," he finally said, his voice muddled.

"Don't be stupid," Kunikida scoffed. "There was nobody else here. No shots have been fired." He watched the dark-haired man warily.

"Oh," Dazai mused emptily and slowly released his hand from the sharp pain in his side and shot a quick glance down at what he had been covering. He immediately pressed it back down.

"What?" Kunikida asked, blood running cold.

"Nothing," Dazai muttered, too quickly.

"Spit it out or I'll find out for myself!" Kunikida growled urgently, attracting the other agency member's attention. They slowly started walking towards them.

Dazai blinked, glassy-eyed and sluggishly before finally answering. "So, we might have a problem... I may or may not have been impaled."

"What?!" Kunikida exclaimed furiously.

Dazai only let out a nervous laugh as he swayed tiredly on his feet, breathing getting more and more labored and a couple droplets of sweat started to trickle down his face.

Their five younger coworkers were closing in on them, looking concerned and confused at what was going on.

"Is Dazai-san hurt?" Atsushi asked, but was ignored as Kunikida reached out for Dazai's hand.

"Let me see it," he demanded, swiping Dazai's hand away, looking wide-eyed at the sharp metal piece that was sticking out of the blood-covered shirt.

The object looked to be about an inch wide and 1,5 inches high, leaving a considerably large gash to the bandaged man's side.

Dazai groaned in pain. The loss of pressure made him winch, finally, getting the best of him as he lost his footing. Kunikida quickly grabbed him and helped to lower him to the ground.

As his back connected with the dirty ground, Dazai went rigid. A small gasp of pain escaped from him, and Kunikida lifted him back up a little, cursing their luck as his hand trailed down Dazai's back to find the end of the object sticking out under Dazai's shirt.

"Atsushi, come and help me get Dazai's coat off," Kunikida told the boy-tiger, who reluctantly approached them.

"What's going on?" the melodic voice of Kyouka asked behind them.

"Dazai has been impaled by some kind of metal shard," Kunikida answered with forced calmness, holding Dazai in his arms. He heard their sharp inhales, but knew he needed to pay Dazai his undivided attention right now if they were going to get him out of there alive.

Dazai himself sure as hell wouldn't help with the "staying alive" part.

Atsushi positioned himself behind Dazai, carefully sliding the coat off. Dazai instantly started to shake.

"No," he whined weakly. "It's too cold."

Kunikida ignored him, instead, directing Atsushi to bundle the coat up and situate it underneath Dazai, giving him a slight tilt so he wouldn't lie directly on the tip of the end-piece of the metal shard. Now, Dazai was able to lie a little more comfortably.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?" Kunikida sneered and started to unbutton Dazai's shirt to get a better look at the wound. Atsushi sat on his knees by his side and looked at his injured mentor worriedly.

Dazai was bearly coherent. His head swayed from side to side, looking at his surroundings with a slight curve to his eyebrows, trying to comprehend what was going on.

Suddenly, a gust of fresh air brushed over his stomach, and he snapped out of his muffled state in high-alert.

"No," he argued feebly, grabbing lethargically at the strong hands unclasping his shirt, trying to wrestle the offending arms away.

"Stop being an idiot," Kunikida struggled, letting go of the snippets of the shirt and holding his hands up in surrender. "I need to see how bad the wound is."

The strain of the hassle left Dazai breathless, but he stubbornly shook his head anyway.

"No," he whispered, trying to cover himself back up.

Kunikida groaned his distress loudly. Instead of pushing further, he shifted his attention towards the rest of the agency and barked, "Are you just going to stand there and stare? Get to work!" Before turning towards Atsushi.

"You, stay with him. See if you can get a look at the wound. If he gets any worse, come and get me. I think my talents are better used elsewhere."

"But... but, if I use my ability, I might be able to dig the way out much quicker than any of you," Atsushi retorted, looking conflicted. On one hand, he wanted them to get out of there as soon as possible, on the other hand, he really wanted to stay with Dazai.

Kunikida considered it.

"No," Dazai muttered sickly. "The building won't hold if you use that kind of power Atsushi-kun. Then none of us will get out."

"He's right," Kunikida grimly chimed in. "The whole place would likely collapse." The idealistic man slowly rose to his feet.

"You're staying here," he decided strictly and started to throttle towards the large rubbles at the other side of the room. A couple of feet away from them, he turned back around and looked intensely at them.

"And Dazai, don't you dare fall asleep."

* * *

**#3: Delirium  
**  
Nothing changed over the next couple of hours. Piles upon piles of rubbles were moved from one end of the room to the other, still not revealing an obvious way out. They were all alternating on keeping an eye on Dazai and digging, whenever fatigue struck them.

Kunikida went back and forth between shoveling dirt and checking on the bandage-wasting idiot, winching when he realized how grim the situation was turning.

Dazai had been nodding off and became more and more sluggish as time went by, having a harder time staying lucid and awake. They were worried that soon, he wouldn't be able to wake up again by himself.

Still, he kept fighting whoever dared trying to touch his wound. At this moment, it was actually the best way they had of keeping him alert.

The pale skin of the injured man had a feverish blush to it, glazed over by a thin layer of fever-induced sweat and small tremors prickled all over his body. He was burning up with a fever while freezing cold from the effects of it.

Kyouka strolled over to them with a soft smile.

"Here you go," Kyouka said pleasantly, and placed the thin red fabric of her kimono over Dazai's trembling form, settling with wearing her yellow tights and a white undershirt. She stroked a comforting, dirt-covered hand over the usual soft locks of Dazai's hair, that was now sticking to his face in tangled knots.

Reluctantly, Dazai accepted the cover but seemed to be scowling at it every time Kyouka turned her attention away from him. When it was time for Atsushi to take over again, he finally let go of what was on his mind.

"Atsushi," he croaked weakly and grasped at the boy's arm with flimsy fingers. The light-haired kid turned towards him with a reassuring smile.

"I'm here."

"Listen, I… I know how this is going to sound, but…" Dazai stated tiredly. Atsushi shifted uncomfortably. Dazai was staring half-lidded at the red cloth that had been draped over him.

"You'll be okay. The shard is blocking the bleeding. As long as it stays in, you're not gonna bleed to death anytime soon…"

"-I need a different blanket," Dazai interrupted determined.

In surprise, Atsushi shot his head towards the fatigued figure in front of him and blinked a couple of times, trying to decide if he had heard that right or not. So, Dazai decided he needed to elaborate.

"I know it doesn't make any sense, but… this blanket is full of alien technology."

Atsushi didn't know how to answer that.

"I know," Dazai sighed sleepily, "just, I'm gonna need a different blanket."

Luckily, Kunikida was close by and heard Dazai's feebled rambling. With a bland expression, he trailed over to them and picked up Kyouka's red kimono and turned it inside out before tucking it back over Dazai.

"Better?" he asked vacantly and watched as Dazai's lips turned into a half-smile and he settled into the warmth of the clothing and relaxed. Atsushi's scrunched eyebrows told Kunikida that the boy had never experienced a delirious Dazai before, and felt the need to explain.

"This happens once in a while when he gets particularly feverish. I guess he's a bit of a closeted conspiracy theorist," Kunikida shrugged.

Atsushi, still severely confused, nodded hesitantly. "Oh."

"Yeah, just… take whatever you hear with a grain of salt, okay? It's an utter mess of ramblings and there really is no way of knowing if anything he says has any footing, in reality, understand?"

Something about Kunikida's tone sounded off to Atsushi. As if, he didn't really believe what he was saying himself. As if it was some kind of warning.

So, he nodded and figured he would understand what Kunikida meant soon enough.

And that, he did.

* * *

The next thirty minutes or so consisted of incoherent ramblings about anything from the "mind-control planes in the sky" to "lizard people? Tsk, we have a tiger-boy!"

Atsushi couldn't help but feel a sliver of pride at being mentioned in Dazai's fever-dream. But soon, the sometimes humourous slurs became more ominous.

It started out as breathy whimpers and apologies. Some of them were directed at people in the agency, other's were people Atsushi knew worked for the Port Mafia, and there were a lot of names he had never heard before in his entire life. Especially one seemed to reoccur.

"Oda? …Oda, it's so dark," Dazai moaned painfully. His voice nearly cracked from frailty. "I want… I want…" It was clearly hard for him to get any sound out at this point.

Atsushi worried, feeling Dazai's boiling hot forehead with the inside of his wrist, winching at the high temperature. Maybe it was time to get Kunikida…

"…to come with you, please. Let me go with you."

Atsushi felt the grip Dazai had on his hand tighten. Atsushi held tightly too, hoping it would reassure Dazai that he wasn't alone. Still, Atsushi wasn't sure if he should be happy or heartbroken when he saw the smile this brought to his elder's lips.

"I knew you'd come back for me," Dazai whispered.

Just as he said that, Tanizaki turned up behind them. "Hey," he greeted, making Atsushi jump in surprise.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to sneak up on you," the redhead apologized, smiling uncomfortably.

Atsushi breathed out, calming his nerves. "It's fine," he started, but Dazai suddenly let go of his hand and reach for Tanizaki instead. The two boys exchanged looks, before turning their attention on Dazai.

"Odasauk?" Dazai asked carefully, with a hint of impatience. Blurry, unseeing eyes peered up at Tanizaki, who stood dumbly and looked back at him.

"I'm not-" Tanizaki started, but Atsushi quickly shut him up.

"Where is he gonna take you, Dazai-san?" he asked calmly, kneeling by his mentor's side. "And who is he?"

"Oda is the good guy," Dazai answered easily. "He's gonna bring me into the light with him."

Yeah, it was definitely time to call for Kunikida.

"Kunikida-san!" Atsushi yelled, probably a bit more desperately than strictly necessary, but it did the trick. Kunikida was sprinting over as soon as the calling registered in his hearing.

"What?" he sneered, immediately hovering over Dazai.

"I don't think he knows where he is," Atsushi explained. "And he doesn't recognize Tanizaki."

"Oda," Dazai mumbled. Nobody knew if it was a coincidence or a correction.

Kunikida seemed calm, and Atsushi got the suspicion that it wasn't the first time he'd seen something like this. After a short moment, Kunikida turned to Tanizaki.

"Junichiro-kun," he started. He had an idea and waited for Tanizaki to look at him before he said anything else. "See if you can get him to show you the wound."

Tanizaki looked queasy. "I'm no good with blood," he croaked pleadingly.

"Tough luck," Kunikida shrugged cooly. "You're not removing the metal or anything. I just want to see what it looks like. We have to make sure that it doesn't get infected. I would also like to tie something around it to quelch what's still bleeding and protect it from all this dust."

Tanizaki wined quietly but turned back to face Dazai. He was just laying there, looking up at him with something that looked like awe in those tired half-lidded eyes.

"I'm Oda..?" Tanizaki asked stupidly, frowning at himself.

"Yeah," Dazai smiled feebly. He was so out of it, Kunikida was sure anyone from the office could have posed as this Oda. But as far as he'd seen, Dazai had never mistaken any of them for that man in the past. Maybe Tanizaki looked like him or at least had some prominent feature in common with the man Dazai would only ever talk about when completely incoherent.

"So, can I look at the wound? You got hurt, remember?"

Dazai made a grimace. Yeah he knew, t'was kinda hard to forget when it was still stuck in your intestines. Reluctantly, he agreed to Tanizaki's suggestion.

"Make sure to comfort him!" Kunikida mouthed, over-exaggerating every syllable for the teenager to understand.

"Uh, g-good job," Tanizaki muttered nervously while he carefully tried to open the rest of the shirt. After fidgeting with the buttons, he figured it would have to do and started to lift his under-shirt.

Dazai shifted agonizingly. The dried blood was tugging at the wound, and Dazai moaned hoarsely. "Oda-san used to be so careful," he gasped miserably.

"S-sorry, I guess I'm out of practice," Tanizika tried. Dazai only sulked but didn't resist when he continued working, carefully releasing the shirt from the wound.

Kunikida watched restlessly, wanting to take over and do it himself.

"One more, okay? It's almost loose," Tanizaki instructed, and pulled the t-shirt off the metallic piece spearing Dazai's side, only to uncover layers upon layers of neatly placed, blood-soaked bandages.

He looked wearily to Dazai, who was panting heavily after the swift tug that probably had torn off some scab from the gash.

"I need to remove some of these, is that okay?" he asked tryingly, but Dazai wouldn't answer. So instead, he looked questioningly to Kunikida and Atsushi. Both men motioned that they didn't know, so he decided to take a chance and take them off.

When removing the bandages, two things became very clear.

First of all, there was more bandage than he first had anticipated. It seemed never-ending, covering at least 85% of his upper body.

The second thing was that the bandages were not decorative, as he had heard many people hypothesize.

This new injury would only be another gash in a jungle of various older and newer scars, in every shape and form, that anyone could imagine.

"Tanizaki, what's going on?" he heard Atsushi ask from behind. Kunikida and Atsushi lingered in the back, trying to give Dazai the space he needed, and to not invade the privacy he so clearly demanded at a time like this.

Tanizaki didn't answer. He didn't know what to say, what to feel, what to do. All he really knew was that somebody had hurt Dazai, and he…

…needed to get up and away so he wouldn't throw up all over him.

Hesitantly, he opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself when, to his surprise, all he could get out was a small sob. He hid his mouth under his hands, hopefully stifling the sound as he got up on shaky knees, unsteadily walking a couple of feet away and let his stomach contents spill out onto the concrete floor.

Atsushi was right behind him, offering a supportive hand on his shoulder while he hurled, and, at least, kinda shieling him from the overbearing grief his younger sister had about his sickness.

The sight of Dazai's mangled torso would haunt him for a long, long time. He already knew that and all the bile in the world couldn't flush that memory away.

"Are you okay?" Atsushi asked in concern, patting his back steadily and looking at him with worried eyes. Tanizaki shook his head vigorously.

"That's not right," he uttered hoarsely. In denial. He shook his head insistingly. "Did you know?" he inquired, grabbing onto Atsushi's shirt.

"Know what?" the silver-haired boy asked bewildered. Maybe he knew? How was he supposed to know if he didn't elaborate?

"About the scars!" Tanizaki exclaimed, ignoring everyone else around. Because fuck it. Dazai wasn't all right.

They had all thought that Dazai's supposed pain, the suicide attempts, the bad habits, heavy bandaging, and unwillingness to take care of himself was just a show, but no, no no, no. It was not.

It was a distraction.

_Fuck, he felt so guilty._

And Atsushi didn't look like he understood a thing. _Good._

Tanizaki turned around and saw Kunikida leaning carefully over the unmoving body of Osamu Dazai.

He had his back turned. Tanizaki couldn't see his face. He could see his arms though. The way he moved gingerly, almost affectionately.

Atsushi didn't know. But Kunikida did.

He probably knew more than any of them.

The two teenagers watched their team leader work effectively on Dazai. They had been able to talk for a little bit, exchanging information and different things they had heard- from Dazai that day, rumors or whenever people had some sort of slip about him. They knew they were still far off, but felt like they had puzzled some pieces together.

About twenty minutes later, their injured coworker was all covered back up, and Tanizaki and Atsushi finally dared to move closer and ask how he was doing.

"He'll be fine," Kunikida huffed, and tried wiping off some dried blood off his hands. "The shard didn't hit anything vital. It probably did cause some damage to his intestines though, so surgery will probably be necessary. Right now, there really isn't much we can do about that, except getting the hell out of here."

"B-but, what about…" Atsushi wasn't sure just how to ask. He hoped Kunikida would just read his mind so he didn't have to say it out loud.

"What about what?"

Something about the way Kunikida asked, almost seemed challenging. As if, he dared him to say anything about it, and Atsushi realized that maybe, he shouldn't say anything at all. Because he remembered, that Kunikida knew.

Knew about the scars. Probably knew a whole lot about what had happened already. Knew who this Oda was.

Finally, he recalled that something Kunikida had told him, now several hours ago and finally understood what he meant.

The truth was, most of them had probably seen many (if not all the) different sides of Dazai. Then, Kunikida, or someone else, would be there to assure them that Dazai was just talking nonsense.

They actually wanted them all to just ignore it- didn't they?

And now, everybody went around, knowing bits and pieces about their coworker and ignoring it entirely.

For Dazai. Because Dazai couldn't handle it when he was all there.

It took another hour for them to get out of there. Yosano was already waiting outside with a make-shift ambulance, having noticed that the mission was taking too much time and that something probably had gone awry.

Dazai was quickly ushered onto a gurney and rushed to a civilian hospital. The bloodloss was too big, and the surgery was too extensive for Yosano to handle in the infirmary all by herself.

The days slowly switched back to normal. Within a week, Dazai was out of the hospital, walking slowly and seemingly in a lot of pain, but was back at the office and pretending like nothing ever happened. He was currently residing on a couch in the back of the office, napping lazily while listening to music.

At this point, Atsushi understood the gist of things. They were all walking around and pretending that nothing happened- like they hadn't seen the horrendous scars on his body, or heard the pain in his voice when he asked for this Oda- ignore the love and hope in his eyes when he thought Tanizaki was this person and had come there to take him away.

And now, everything was back, just the way it was. Atsushi was sure Tanizaki hadn't known anything before the day at the construction site. He was fairly new to the agency too. He just wondered how many times Kunikida had done that same schpiel now.

What would happen if Dazai realized how much they knew?

…

_Nothing good._

Atsushi decided that maybe, just maybe, the delirium hadn't exactly been the hallucinations back then.

Maybe the delirium was whatever was going on right now.

* * *

**First of:**  
**The alien technology in the blanket-thing is actually based pretty accurately on true events.**

**My boyfriend and some of his friends went on a trip around Europe this summer and one of his buddies got severe food poisoning. He assured them that he knew how stupid it sounded and that it didn't make any sense even too him, but he really just needed a different blanket because of the alien technology in the one that he already had.**

**Secondly: I might revisit this. I'm not all the way satisfied with it, and that's the issue with trying to follow a day-to-day event. Also, I usually lean pretty heavily on cursive in my stories to get points across, but for some reason, it doesn't copy to this site. I may get around to do something about it. I fixed it a _few _places, but I got lazy****.**

**I think I'm just gonna say this; I can't promise daily updates (because I have some pride in my work, and I want to tell a good story). But I can promise that I'll try my best. And I'm gonna post something about every single prompt, and try my best to not fall too far behind.**

**Thank you all of reading!**


	3. Dragged Away

**Whumptober #5: Dragged Away - Bungou Stray Dogs**

**(What I wrote for #4 was so short that I only posted in on tumblr. It wasn't really a fic, but I might do something with the prompt later).**

**Summary:**  
**Young Chuuya wants to save the sad kid that lives in Mori's lab.**

* * *

Chuuya closed his tear-filled eyes and hid behind two chubby, small hands, wiping vigorously at the shameful wetness that spilled down his cheeks. Kouyou lead him calmly yet firmly away from the garden where just moments before, he had briefly socialized with the first kid he'd met since being taken into this strange house _(with all of these even stranger rules)_.

He couldn't understand what they'd done wrong; _he was just trying to be nice._

He thought that was what you were supposed to do when you met other kids that seemed a little on the outside. Kids that were different.

The school he went to _before (before the lab and before abilities and before being alone), _always told him to include everyone.

But, clearly not. Not here. Because here, everything was backward and upside down- _so stupid._

No one was friendly, no one wanted to play or talk and no one ever seemed_ happy._ Everyone was just cranky all the time and telling him what to do. Or, what _not_ to do.

People didn't use to _tell _Chuuya what to do. People were supposed to be _afraid_ of him. All the other kids he'd met since he got his powers were.

This kid, however, Dazai was his name, was _not. _He wasn't frightened at all. Actually, he claimed that Chuuya's powers wouldn't work on him.

_Hah, they'd see about that! ...if-if they ever got to meet again._

It looked like Dazai wasn't supposed to go outside. That eery doctor who would treat them when they got hurt during training sessions had come and taken him.

He was mad.

Chuuya supposed Dazai seemed to be a bit too injured to be out to play. Half his face was bandaged and his arm was in a sling, and he was walking with a crutch as well. Actually, Chuuya hadn't been able to find an _inch _of skin that _wasn't _covered in band-aids or bandages.

Chuuya had asked what happened to him, but Dazai only made jokes or tried to create other diversions. Chuuya wondered if it was Dr. Mori who'd done it but didn't dare to aks.

And then, Dr. Mori came outside and he finally _knew._

It was the first time Chuuya had ever seen him angry. He would usually smile and laugh, and sometimes give him candy if he did good and didn't cry when he got treated.

Still, there was always something ominous about him. He always seemed dead tired, or like, his smile never truly reached all the way to the creases of his mouth.

_And when he found them he'd grabbed Dazai by the hair and dragged him away. The crutch was still lying scattered in the dirt. There was a long trail from Dazai's broken leg being hauled through the mud and wet grass, and a couple of scratch marks in the spots where the young boy had been able to tear himself away from the violent grasp and tried to crawl to safety._

_To Chuuya._

And Chuuya had been too scared to help.

* * *

Once inside, Kouyou finally turned towards the distraught redhead. She laid two manicured hands vigorously on his shoulders and leaned down to address him on his level.

"It's okay. There's no reason to cry," she said decidedly, but couldn't keep her voice from showing just a sliver of sympathy.

"B-but..." Chuuya choked out but was quickly interrupted by the gracious woman.

"No _buts_. It's not your place to question any of the executives. I need you to remember that."

The small-statured youngster tried to hold back the drops of salted water that were now pooling freely down his face. He rubbed furiously at his azure eyes.

_I won't cry I won't cry I won't cry..._

"Okay, chibi?" She smiled and cupped his cheek lightly while wiping some escaped tears away with her red-painted thumbs.

He whispered something shaky and inaudible, and clutched his shaking body against hers, holding tightly around her narrow shoulders and felt how his heartbeat was beating twice as fast as hers.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I can't understand what you're saying," she cooed comfortably and patted his head.

"W-who's wiping Dazai-san's tears away, ane-san?" he sobbed quietly, and buried his face in the pink kimono that always smelled of floral perfume.

_Smelled nice, smelled safe. Like home, and, maybe even... love. If he was allowed to think that. He wanted to believe that, so best not to ever say it out loud._

And Kouyou said nothing. Chuuya understood that that was answer enough. Because there was no one.

Chuuya was all by himself, but Dazai was _alone. _No one would blow cooling air when he scratched his knees. No one would bring him dry clothes after being caught in the rain. No one would tuck him in and offer reassuring words at the end of a difficult day.

At first, Dazai had been curious and awestruck by Chuuya, and Chuuya had felt good. Cool and maybe even important. He'd shown off his powers _(well the gravity-one not the other 'cause that one was _bad_ and he wasn't allowed t'was forbidden) _and they had played on the swing set. It was really the only thing Dazai was able to play on with the injured leg.

Then Dr. Mori dragged him away by the hair and Dazai hadn't done _anything. _As soon as Mori caught him, he'd just gone limb. Completely blank and unfeeling and he had somehow just _shut off_.

_This wasn't the first time something like that had happened. That much was clear even to someone as young and (despite everything and maybe a teeny bit less than other's his age) _naïve as Chuuya_. _

Chuuya didn't know what was happening behind the closed doors of Mori's research room. But he knew he wanted to find out, once he was stronger and could control his powers better. He would rescue Dazai because Dazai was _just a kid _like _him _and wasn't supposed to be _lonely _and _broken _and _afraid._

That evening, as Chuuya comforted himself, lying half asleep, resting his head on Kouyou's lap, he decided what he needed to do.

"Ane-san?" he murmured hoarsely. Small lungs tend to get tired when crying for _hours. _

"Quoi, mon petit chèri?" she answered absentmindedly and continued reading through her reports.

"I'm going to be an executive one day," he stated determinedly.

"Really?" she mused pleasantly, creaking her heavily painted eyes in a genuine smile. Chuuya nodded, full of spirit.

"Yeah. I'd- I'd make sure that everybody gets tucked in at night," he explained weakly, before trailing off in pure fatigue. It had been a long day. Kouyou finally put down her notes and stroked his ginger locks carefully.

"And why is that, mon ami?"

"Because," Chuuya yawned heavily. "When I didn't have you, I always cried at night," he explained simply, nuzzling his face into her lap.

Kouyou's eyebrows creased worriedly.

"...and, I think maybe Dazai-san does that too."_  
_

* * *

After tucking Chuuya in that night, kissing him on the head and telling him how proud she was of him, Kouyou snuck down and into the infirmary. Mori had gone home for the night, leaving Dazai shackled to the disproportionally large hospital bed. From all the new bandages, she understood that it had been a difficult day for him too.

He was laying soundlessly, motionlessly in the huge bed, likely in a drug-induced sleep.

She sat gingerly on his bedside and held her hand on his forehead, feeling soft skin disturbed by rough band-aids and scars.

_The poor kid hadn't been out of this infirmary since he got here. Not until today at least._

The truth was, that Kouyou had seen the frail raven-haired child limping around in the garden for a couple of minutes before she sent Chuuya outside to play with him. Her trainee would do good to spend some time with kids his own age- and this kid would _definitely _benefit from it too.

_It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. _

Now, she sat back with two traumatized children, one psychologically and one _(at least- __but probably not only) physically._

She hated it. Hated this situation, how it made her feel and what it did to these boys. Because in the end, as much as they were trying to make unfeeling killing machines- they were _only children. _6 year-olds.

As much as they'd been through, nobody could deny the number of their years.

And in the end, there was only so much she could do- and that was for only one of them. At least, until her coworker would let go of this sick obsession he had with this kid.

Her eyes almost overfloated when she noticed the child flinch in his sleep as her hand trailed down the side of his face. The tight knot in her stomach grew even firmer and she had to brace herself not to sob.

She had seen too much hurt for her _own_ short lifetime. And she would do whatever she possibly _could _to ease whatever pain she surrounded herself with wherever she was.

She carefully tucked him in and kissed his forehead, telling him goodnight and sleep tight before she returned to her suite and started writing a long and thorough request to the mafia boss, on how and why her's and 's students should start a training schedule together as soon as possible.

The request would be re-sent and changed several times in the next couple of years until _finally, _the boss accepted it.

Dazai was already broken beyond repair. Chuuya had become a headstrong and (_admittedly_) short-tempered young man, and she couldn't help but wonder how their relationship would've turned out if she'd been successful at this project a few years earlier.

If she had been more insistent and vocal about it, instead of as careful and shy as she was back then.

_If she had stood up for a defenseless child and stopped him from being dragged away from his only desperate hope for safety._

But at least now, both of them could look after him. Even if he would never admit to it out loud, she knew Chuuya would be the first to unleash hell on whoever tried to harm Dazai, and vise Versa.

Because no man would be left behind. Not even the ones who were dragged away.


	4. Isloation

**Whumptober 2019 #7: Isolation - Bungou Stray Dogs MissTinfoilHat**

**Summary:**  
**Dazai is dealing with the anniversary of Oda's death.**

**(I goofed on the prompt-word; it was started as "Isolation", then left for a while, making me confused and believing it was supposed to be the #11 Stitches-one, I think. I don't know. I probably had wine.) That's why it kinda almost nearly fits the prompt.**

**I gift this work to Bloodstained_Phoneix on Ao3 because they're awesome and inspires me with their kind words and encouragement!**

**This is going to be another two-parter. I'm simply not built for this one-shot business. Also, it's really late. 03:30 in the morning kinda late. It's going to be continued with the #15 prompt: Scars**

* * *

Blurry vision came too and went away a couple of times before Osamu Dazai decided on keeping his eyes closed. It wasn't because of the pounding headache from bottles upon bottles of sake the night before, or the fact that it was winter, freezing and the first day of another work week. It wasn't even because of the fresh new slashes he'd embedded into his body the night before.

No, it was simply because he woke up.

Sure, the attempt last night was probably a bit haphazard and none-committing. He hadn't gone for the classics; no overdosing on pills, no hanging, no jumping off a building or in front of a train. He couldn't technically say that he hadn't tried to slit his wrists, because, he kinda had. In his drunken state, he had apparently just failed miserably.

Dazai shifted painfully, feeling how the new wounds pinched and scorched with every movement, from the fragile skin of his throat to the soles of his feet.

Honestly, he had probably blacked out from the excessive amounts of alcohol before he could do something truly fatal, and the beer goggles had prevented him in succeeding in the single truly fatal thing he'd try to do last night.

_Was that progress? _

Probably not. Probably not at all. But it was _something._

Unable to fall back asleep, Dazai pried his eyes open, flinching at the sharp light radiating into his bedroom windows as a "_good morning and fuck you"_ from the snow-covered streets outside.

He was lying on his side, knees drawn up to his chest and both hands resting on the pillow in front of his face. As soon as his vision adjusted, he realized that his bed sheets were covered in spots of crimson red, bleeding through torn or completely missing bandages and spilling onto most of his beddings as well as himself.  
_  
What a mess. Everything was just in complete fucking shambles and all he could do was lay there and watch as the blood sagged further into the mattress._

But he couldn't get up. He was sure he _could _get up sometime during the day, but not right now. Right now was a _bad_ _time_. The motivation to _live _was sure to come back to him. Just_ not _right now.

Reluctantly, he sluggishly turned around to check the time on his alarm clock. It was placed on the floor next to his futon and showed 09:27, making him late for work by one and a half hours.

He could _feel_ the scab on his wounds cracking by his every movement, but he decided he deserved the pain- which kinda was the point by this mess after all.

So, he gritted his teeth and bared with it like he usually did.

Haltingly, achingly he pushed himself away from the comfort of his mattress and let the blanket fall in a heap on the floor. The low temperature in the dorm had a frigid bite to it, and he fought the temptation to crawl back into bed and go back to sleep.

_But he would only wake up again._

_He really didn't want another disappointment like that as soon after the last one. _

So, instead he got up on shaky legs. The underside of his feet hurt desperately. As if he was walking on needles. They were usually the first ones he'd attack. It would hurt constantly and be hard to spot. These days, it was kind of too late for that, but he still did it.

Leaning heavily on the wall, he started to limp his way out of his bedroom and towards his kitchen. If it was for coffee or sake he had yet to decide. Whichever would be most conveniently available. Food was a no go, not on days like today. Or weeks like this week.

His mind usually didn't need a special occasion to turn on him like it had yesterday and today, but today was a bit different. It was the tenth of January.

Five years to the day since his best friend had died in his arms. The one and probably the only person who had ever seen something special in him, a potential for something else- something _not _bad.

Five years since he had turned to the light- which ironically had made the lights go out on his sanity.

Five years since he had turned his back on everything he believed was true, closed the chapter on his old life and started making preparations for his new one, because Oda had sparked some deranged notion inside of him that he had the capability to be _different._

So why wasn't he feeling any different?

Guilt was a powerful and potentially deadly feeling, from his experience.

The train of thought that spun on high speed inside his head almost made the few meters out of the room unbearable. It had nothing to do with the fresh wounds, the ruined bandages that pulled where the newly formed crusts had dried into the cloth, ripping and tearing while adding new hot stains along with the dirty dressings.

It wasn't sleepiness, a hangover or any physical state at all. _All he truly wanted to do was hide underneath his covers and pretend that he had never existed. _

If only it was that easy. To never have existed at all. The small shred of doubt that always seemed to crawl its way into his thoughts as he stood on a ledge, was for the people at the agency. The _only _reason he always left just the slightest chance of survival whenever he decided that it was time to die.

Dazai found himself clutching onto the door frame between his bedroom and the joint kitchenette and living room. In his musings, he had lost contact with reality and moved on autopilot. Taking a steadying breath, he attempted to stand up straighter, hoping to fool himself into thinking that he wasn't currently struggling with only staying on his feet. He had no idea what had made him startle this much.

Then, a harsh couple of knocks were heard banging furiously at his door. Dazai froze. A sudden eruption of paranoia hit him like a brick wall, making his knees buckle and landing him on the floor with a silent thud.

Almost blindly, he crawled back inside his room, trying to get control over his breathing and instinctively looking for the black coat with a hidden pocket for a 9 mm handgun.

As soon as he laid his eyes on the beige coat _(so much like Oda's) _he remembered that he hadn't borne a gun since_ that day_ five years ago.

He didn't _kill _anymore.

He was Osamu Dazai, genius ability user. He didn't _need _weapons. His greatest weapon was his mind. Oda had _told him._

But how the hell was he supposed to protect himself when he had quite literally _lost_ his fucking mind?

Finally, the door got unlocked in the other room, and Dazai crawled his way towards one of the corners in his small bedroom.

His mind was so muddled, he couldn't get a grip. Couldn't _react, _couldn't _breathe, _couldn't _stop fucking bleeding all over the fucking floor! What was wrong with him?_

When the gentle thump of worn loafers swiftly made their way towards his room, he was already crouched down, making himself small _(like a helpless child- a pathetic impotent fearful little brat that in no way possessed the cruel hands he himself did). _

He didn't know what he had expected- but what came next, was worse than he could ever have imagined.

"What the hell-" a stern voice started to say, ready for a scolding, but died out as soon as it entered the room.

_Oh no... _

"Dazai?" the low voice was concerned, while steady and severe. It was a tone that Dazai usually dreaded, especially coming from this particular man.

Kunikida stepped inside, peering at the blood-covered bed and floor, leading a crimson trail towards Dazai who sat rigidly in the far corner of the room in a bloodied pile, shirt crooked and stained, hair bedraggled while glassy, half-lidded eyes, stared blindly through him.

The next thing he noticed was that Dazai's usually painstakingly covered arms and throat were partially visible and that the coverage didn't actually _stop_ there.

When Kunikida had jokingly called him a mummy all those times in the past, he had no idea how precise the description actually was.

_Even his feet..._

"Dazai, I need you to look at me," he said tryingly, carefully walking closer. Dazai only shook his head intensely and crawled even further in on himself, now hiding behind scattered knees and letting his bare arms secure them in place.

"Yes, I do," Kunikida insisted gravely. "You are hurt, and in need of medical attention."

"No," Dazai whispered pleadingly, but not without a decisiveness coming through in his brittle voice. "It's okay."

"No, it _really _isn't." Kunikida was now standing less than a meter from the trembling man, silently looking over the severely abused skin left, for the first time as long as he'd known Dazai, visible.

"You didn't come into work today," Kunikida continued, and watched attentively at how Dazai would react. "And when I realized what date it was, I decided that I needed to stop by. You always disappear this time of year, so we all got worried."

"No need," Dazai answered weakly before a bitter chuckle forced its way through his body. Even in his disheveled state, he sensed the irony between his statement and appearance. Somehow, it seemed to dissolve some of the tension he was feeling.

With a microscopic grin, he finally looked up, meeting the blonde's gaze. "Can't you see that I'm absolutely peachy?"

The bespectacled man smiled crookedly back and reached his hand out.

"Please, let me take a look at you."

"I rather you didn't."

"Well, tough luck."

Kunikida moved a little closer and before Dazai even realized what he was doing, he had leaned in to rest his head against Kunikida's shoulder.

It smelled clean, newly showered and familiar and _safe. _

At first, Kunikida stiffened a little by the unexpected closeness, but he quickly relaxed into it, and rested a comforting hand on his younger colleague's back.

Dazai's fatigue was finally getting to him, and he felt himself getting heavier against his partner. He was even too tired to care about that. Being in such a vulnerable position wasn't something he normally was comfortable with, but somehow, he couldn't resist this.

After a moment of silence, Kunikida wormed his arm around Dazai's back and under his arms, helping him stand. Dazai leaned heavily into the support, and Kunikida guided him towards the bathroom.

Once inside, Dazai got seated on the toilet- the only surface meant for actual _sitting _in his entire apartment, while Kunikida roamed around his closets and drawers, looking for a medical kit. The bandages were already stacked neatly on the dresser in the other room, but he would probably have to stitch up some of the wounds before covering them anyway.

"You know, it really would be better if you'd let Yosano take a look at these..."

"No," Dazai cut him off bluntly, leaving no room for arguments. Kunikida just nodded. He had some medical training, and stitching up lacerations wasn't too hard once you overcame the mental block of sticking needles into another person's flesh.

The first aid kit Dazai owned was well stacked, which wasn't a surprise when looking at his body (_or his injury reports for that matter)_. Kunikida quickly found something to clean the wounds with, as well as the needle and thread he would need to stitch up the gashes that were too deep to stop bleeding on their own.

"This would be way easier if you just showed me which ones were new," Kunikida mumbled exasperated, to which Dazai decided not to answer.

Needing to just _start _somewhere, Kunikida settled on a deep cut on Dazai's lower arm. The ex-mafioso didn't even flinch as the needle penetrated his skin for the first stitch.

After a while of mutual silence, Kunikida slowly started to get out of his state of shock from seeing his companion in such a dreadful condition. Dazai would have to answer a couple of questions; there was no doubt about that. But he needed to tread carefully so Dazai wouldn't close back in on himself.

"I always figured that you were hiding something... _distressing _under your bandages," he sighed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly, no," Dazai murmured after a moment, hoping he would get away with it. Kunikida gave some more thought into his next words.

"I... understand that. But, I've already seen it. What damage can it really do if you tell me why?"

Dazai kept his mouth shut, but his eyebrows worried while he looked at the precise stitching of Kunikida's sturdy right hand.

"Hm?" Kunikida pressed on, hoping he wasn't going too far.

"It's not all me," Dazai finally shared. Outwards, he was calm, but on the inside, it felt like he had just jumped off a plane without a parachute. "I mean, much of it is, b-but, not _all _of it."

Kunikida decided that _that _was something he would have to ask about later. Right now, the important thing was to figure out why he would hurt himself so badly, while kinda being a pacifist (_if he was being honest) _in the field_(well, he would fight, but would never bring a weapon; in this line of work, that would be considered as pacifistic), _and _hopefully, _give them a picture of what to look out for, to prevent it from escalating to this point again.

"Okay. Did something happen that triggered it this time? Your self-harming."

Dazai was still looking severely apathetic, but something in his demeanor shifted slightly at those words. _He guessed he hadn't thought of it like that before- it was just punishment. Because he deserved to be punished._

"I..." Dazai started to say but trailed off.

His mind was just a rambling mess. Between the liability he felt for his past actions, the grief for Oda's death and just simply not being used to _not _being in pain, he had no idea how to talk about this. Mainly because he didn't really talk about it.

Mori knew, and probably Chuuya too. He hadn't actually told his former partner about his self-mutilation, or about the torture he had suffered in the hands of those who could see him for what he truly was; _those who gave him what he deserved._

_People like the former head of the Port Mafia, and later, Mori._

He didn't _want _to talk about it- didn't _need _to talk about it. He just needed to _feel _something.

Kunikida was waiting patiently until Dazai finally opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm bad," was all he could muster.

Kunikida halted his work for a moment, surprised by Dazai's answer.

"I don't think you are," Kunikida said calmly, before being cut off by a loud scoff by the bleeding man.

"Yeah you do, you tell me every day."

Shortly after, Dazai realized the accusing nature of his statement.

"B-but, you're right. I am. I... I'm not human. I'm nothing less than... than a _demon... ouch!_"

Kunikida's current stitch was harsh, forceful and reckless. Eyebrows raised dangerously hight over the invisible frames of his glasses. Kunikida let go of the hand he was currently working on and inhaled deeply.

"You are _not _a demon, Dazai," he said seriously, _dangerously. _"Whatever those Port Mafia-scums has seared into your brain... your _flesh, _you are _human. _Just as worthy of life, redemption, and forgiveness as we all are." Another silent moment, before he added, "...and _happiness. _More than _all, _you are deserving of happiness."

Dazai only stared. He couldn't- _wouldn't _accept those words. Because they were _false. _Deserving was the _wrong_ _word_. Oda _deserved _to live.  
_  
He_, could only _dream _of being as deserving of _anything _like that.

"I'm not-"

"Shut up _right now _or I'll sew your mouth shut!" Kunikida growled angrily with the needle pointed threateningly towards Dazai's face.

Okay. Dazai decided.

_Time to shut up. _

* * *

**TBC**

**(I couldn't remember if there was a date or a "suggested date" for Oda's death. The real Oda Sakunosuke died on January 10th, so I went with that).**


	5. Stab Wound

**Whumptober 2019 #7: Isolation - Bungou Stray Dogs**

**Summary:**  
**Dazai is dealing with the anniversary of Oda's death.**

**(I goofed on the prompt-word; it was started as "Isolation", then left for a while, making me confused and believing it was supposed to be the #11 Stitches-one, I think. I don't know. I probably had wine.) That's why it kinda almost nearly fits the prompt.**

**I gift this work to Bloodstained_Phoneix on Ao3 because they're awesome and inspires me with their kind words and encouragement!**

**This is going to be another two-parter. I'm simply not built for this one-shot business. Also, it's really late. 03:30 in the morning kinda late. It's going to be continued with the #15 prompt: Scars**

* * *

Blurry vision came too and went away a couple of times before Osamu Dazai decided on keeping his eyes closed. It wasn't because of the pounding headache from bottles upon bottles of sake the night before, or the fact that it was winter, freezing and the first day of another work week. It wasn't even because of the fresh new slashes he'd embedded into his body the night before.

No, it was simply because he woke up.

Sure, the attempt last night was probably a bit haphazard and none-committing. He hadn't gone for the classics; no overdosing on pills, no hanging, no jumping off a building or in front of a train. He couldn't technically say that he hadn't tried to slit his wrists, because, he kinda had. In his drunken state, he had apparently just failed miserably.

Dazai shifted painfully, feeling how the new wounds pinched and scorched with every movement, from the fragile skin of his throat to the soles of his feet.

Honestly, he had probably blacked out from the excessive amounts of alcohol before he could do something truly fatal, and the beer goggles had prevented him in succeeding in the single truly fatal thing he'd try to do last night.

_Was that progress? _

Probably not. Probably not at all. But it was _something._

Unable to fall back asleep, Dazai pried his eyes open, flinching at the sharp light radiating into his bedroom windows as a "_good morning and fuck you"_ from the snow-covered streets outside.

He was lying on his side, knees drawn up to his chest and both hands resting on the pillow in front of his face. As soon as his vision adjusted, he realized that his bed sheets were covered in spots of crimson red, bleeding through torn or completely missing bandages and spilling onto most of his beddings as well as himself.  
_  
What a mess. Everything was just in complete fucking shambles and all he could do was lay there and watch as the blood sagged further into the mattress._

But he couldn't get up. He was sure he _could _get up sometime during the day, but not right now. Right now was a _bad_ _time_. The motivation to _live _was sure to come back to him. Just_ not _right now.

Reluctantly, he sluggishly turned around to check the time on his alarm clock. It was placed on the floor next to his futon and showed 09:27, making him late for work by one and a half hours.

He could _feel_ the scab on his wounds cracking by his every movement, but he decided he deserved the pain- which kinda was the point by this mess after all.

So, he gritted his teeth and bared with it like he usually did.

Haltingly, achingly he pushed himself away from the comfort of his mattress and let the blanket fall in a heap on the floor. The low temperature in the dorm had a frigid bite to it, and he fought the temptation to crawl back into bed and go back to sleep.

_But he would only wake up again._

_He really didn't want another disappointment like that as soon after the last one. _

So, instead he got up on shaky legs. The underside of his feet hurt desperately. As if he was walking on needles. They were usually the first ones he'd attack. It would hurt constantly and be hard to spot. These days, it was kind of too late for that, but he still did it.

Leaning heavily on the wall, he started to limp his way out of his bedroom and towards his kitchen. If it was for coffee or sake he had yet to decide. Whichever would be most conveniently available. Food was a no go, not on days like today. Or weeks like this week.

His mind usually didn't need a special occasion to turn on him like it had yesterday and today, but today was a bit different. It was the tenth of January.

Five years to the day since his best friend had died in his arms. The one and probably the only person who had ever seen something special in him, a potential for something else- something _not _bad.

Five years since he had turned to the light- which ironically had made the lights go out on his sanity.

Five years since he had turned his back on everything he believed was true, closed the chapter on his old life and started making preparations for his new one, because Oda had sparked some deranged notion inside of him that he had the capability to be _different._

So why wasn't he feeling any different?

Guilt was a powerful and potentially deadly feeling, from his experience.

The train of thought that spun on high speed inside his head almost made the few meters out of the room unbearable. It had nothing to do with the fresh wounds, the ruined bandages that pulled where the newly formed crusts had dried into the cloth, ripping and tearing while adding new hot stains along with the dirty dressings.

It wasn't sleepiness, a hangover or any physical state at all. _All he truly wanted to do was hide underneath his covers and pretend that he had never existed. _

If only it was that easy. To never have existed at all. The small shred of doubt that always seemed to crawl its way into his thoughts as he stood on a ledge, was for the people at the agency. The _only _reason he always left just the slightest chance of survival whenever he decided that it was time to die.

Dazai found himself clutching onto the door frame between his bedroom and the joint kitchenette and living room. In his musings, he had lost contact with reality and moved on autopilot. Taking a steadying breath, he attempted to stand up straighter, hoping to fool himself into thinking that he wasn't currently struggling with only staying on his feet. He had no idea what had made him startle this much.

Then, a harsh couple of knocks were heard banging furiously at his door. Dazai froze. A sudden eruption of paranoia hit him like a brick wall, making his knees buckle and landing him on the floor with a silent thud.

Almost blindly, he crawled back inside his room, trying to get control over his breathing and instinctively looking for the black coat with a hidden pocket for a 9 mm handgun.

As soon as he laid his eyes on the beige coat _(so much like Oda's) _he remembered that he hadn't borne a gun since_ that day_ five years ago.

He didn't _kill _anymore.

He was Osamu Dazai, genius ability user. He didn't _need _weapons. His greatest weapon was his mind. Oda had _told him._

But how the hell was he supposed to protect himself when he had quite literally _lost_ his fucking mind?

Finally, the door got unlocked in the other room, and Dazai crawled his way towards one of the corners in his small bedroom.

His mind was so muddled, he couldn't get a grip. Couldn't _react, _couldn't _breathe, _couldn't _stop fucking bleeding all over the fucking floor! What was wrong with him?_

When the gentle thump of worn loafers swiftly made their way towards his room, he was already crouched down, making himself small _(like a helpless child- a pathetic impotent fearful little brat that in no way possessed the cruel hands he himself did). _

He didn't know what he had expected- but what came next, was worse than he could ever have imagined.

"What the hell-" a stern voice started to say, ready for a scolding, but died out as soon as it entered the room.

_Oh no... _

"Dazai?" the low voice was concerned, while steady and severe. It was a tone that Dazai usually dreaded, especially coming from this particular man.

Kunikida stepped inside, peering at the blood-covered bed and floor, leading a crimson trail towards Dazai who sat rigidly in the far corner of the room in a bloodied pile, shirt crooked and stained, hair bedraggled while glassy, half-lidded eyes, stared blindly through him.

The next thing he noticed was that Dazai's usually painstakingly covered arms and throat were partially visible and that the coverage didn't actually _stop_ there.

When Kunikida had jokingly called him a mummy all those times in the past, he had no idea how precise the description actually was.

_Even his feet..._

"Dazai, I need you to look at me," he said tryingly, carefully walking closer. Dazai only shook his head intensely and crawled even further in on himself, now hiding behind scattered knees and letting his bare arms secure them in place.

"Yes, I do," Kunikida insisted gravely. "You are hurt, and in need of medical attention."

"No," Dazai whispered pleadingly, but not without a decisiveness coming through in his brittle voice. "It's okay."

"No, it _really _isn't." Kunikida was now standing less than a meter from the trembling man, silently looking over the severely abused skin left, for the first time as long as he'd known Dazai, visible.

"You didn't come into work today," Kunikida continued, and watched attentively at how Dazai would react. "And when I realized what date it was, I decided that I needed to stop by. You always disappear this time of year, so we all got worried."

"No need," Dazai answered weakly before a bitter chuckle forced its way through his body. Even in his disheveled state, he sensed the irony between his statement and appearance. Somehow, it seemed to dissolve some of the tension he was feeling.

With a microscopic grin, he finally looked up, meeting the blonde's gaze. "Can't you see that I'm absolutely peachy?"

The bespectacled man smiled crookedly back and reached his hand out.

"Please, let me take a look at you."

"I rather you didn't."

"Well, tough luck."

Kunikida moved a little closer and before Dazai even realized what he was doing, he had leaned in to rest his head against Kunikida's shoulder.

It smelled clean, newly showered and familiar and _safe. _

At first, Kunikida stiffened a little by the unexpected closeness, but he quickly relaxed into it, and rested a comforting hand on his younger colleague's back.

Dazai's fatigue was finally getting to him, and he felt himself getting heavier against his partner. He was even too tired to care about that. Being in such a vulnerable position wasn't something he normally was comfortable with, but somehow, he couldn't resist this.

After a moment of silence, Kunikida wormed his arm around Dazai's back and under his arms, helping him stand. Dazai leaned heavily into the support, and Kunikida guided him towards the bathroom.

Once inside, Dazai got seated on the toilet- the only surface meant for actual _sitting _in his entire apartment, while Kunikida roamed around his closets and drawers, looking for a medical kit. The bandages were already stacked neatly on the dresser in the other room, but he would probably have to stitch up some of the wounds before covering them anyway.

"You know, it really would be better if you'd let Yosano take a look at these..."

"No," Dazai cut him off bluntly, leaving no room for arguments. Kunikida just nodded. He had some medical training, and stitching up lacerations wasn't too hard once you overcame the mental block of sticking needles into another person's flesh.

The first aid kit Dazai owned was well stacked, which wasn't a surprise when looking at his body (_or his injury reports for that matter)_. Kunikida quickly found something to clean the wounds with, as well as the needle and thread he would need to stitch up the gashes that were too deep to stop bleeding on their own.

"This would be way easier if you just showed me which ones were new," Kunikida mumbled exasperated, to which Dazai decided not to answer.

Needing to just _start _somewhere, Kunikida settled on a deep cut on Dazai's lower arm. The ex-mafioso didn't even flinch as the needle penetrated his skin for the first stitch.

After a while of mutual silence, Kunikida slowly started to get out of his state of shock from seeing his companion in such a dreadful condition. Dazai would have to answer a couple of questions; there was no doubt about that. But he needed to tread carefully so Dazai wouldn't close back in on himself.

"I always figured that you were hiding something... _distressing _under your bandages," he sighed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly, no," Dazai murmured after a moment, hoping he would get away with it. Kunikida gave some more thought into his next words.

"I... understand that. But, I've already seen it. What damage can it really do if you tell me why?"

Dazai kept his mouth shut, but his eyebrows worried while he looked at the precise stitching of Kunikida's sturdy right hand.

"Hm?" Kunikida pressed on, hoping he wasn't going too far.

"It's not all me," Dazai finally shared. Outwards, he was calm, but on the inside, it felt like he had just jumped off a plane without a parachute. "I mean, much of it is, b-but, not _all _of it."

Kunikida decided that _that _was something he would have to ask about later. Right now, the important thing was to figure out why he would hurt himself so badly, while kinda being a pacifist (_if he was being honest) _in the field_(well, he would fight, but would never bring a weapon; in this line of work, that would be considered as pacifistic), _and _hopefully, _give them a picture of what to look out for, to prevent it from escalating to this point again.

"Okay. Did something happen that triggered it this time? Your self-harming."

Dazai was still looking severely apathetic, but something in his demeanor shifted slightly at those words. _He guessed he hadn't thought of it like that before- it was just punishment. Because he deserved to be punished._

"I..." Dazai started to say but trailed off.

His mind was just a rambling mess. Between the liability he felt for his past actions, the grief for Oda's death and just simply not being used to _not _being in pain, he had no idea how to talk about this. Mainly because he didn't really talk about it.

Mori knew, and probably Chuuya too. He hadn't actually told his former partner about his self-mutilation, or about the torture he had suffered in the hands of those who could see him for what he truly was; _those who gave him what he deserved._

_People like the former head of the Port Mafia, and later, Mori._

He didn't _want _to talk about it- didn't _need _to talk about it. He just needed to _feel _something.

Kunikida was waiting patiently until Dazai finally opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm bad," was all he could muster.

Kunikida halted his work for a moment, surprised by Dazai's answer.

"I don't think you are," Kunikida said calmly, before being cut off by a loud scoff by the bleeding man.

"Yeah you do, you tell me every day."

Shortly after, Dazai realized the accusing nature of his statement.

"B-but, you're right. I am. I... I'm not human. I'm nothing less than... than a _demon... ouch!_"

Kunikida's current stitch was harsh, forceful and reckless. Eyebrows raised dangerously hight over the invisible frames of his glasses. Kunikida let go of the hand he was currently working on and inhaled deeply.

"You are _not _a demon, Dazai," he said seriously, _dangerously. _"Whatever those Port Mafia-scums has seared into your brain... your _flesh, _you are _human. _Just as worthy of life, redemption, and forgiveness as we all are." Another silent moment, before he added, "...and _happiness. _More than _all, _you are deserving of happiness."

Dazai only stared. He couldn't- _wouldn't _accept those words. Because they were _false. _Deserving was the _wrong_ _word_. Oda _deserved _to live.  
_  
He_, could only _dream _of being as deserving of _anything _like that.

"I'm not-"

"Shut up _right now _or I'll sew your mouth shut!" Kunikida growled angrily with the needle pointed threateningly towards Dazai's face.

Okay. Dazai decided.

_Time to shut up. _

* * *

**TBC**

**(I couldn't remember if there was a date or a "suggested date" for Oda's death. The real Oda Sakunosuke died on January 10th, so I went with that).**


	6. Shackles

**Whumptober 2019 #8: Stab wound - Bungou Stray Dogs**

**Summary:**  
**After what seemingly is just a meeting for a briefing with a new client, Dazai is overpowered by a gang of rufflings.**

**This might get a continuation. Just kind of a "recovery ****chapter", because I usually like them and find that many stories lack them. I'm not sure if it's going to be a part of this Whumptober thing or not, but I thought I'd give you guys a heads up!**

* * *

Dazai loafed his way across the concrete flooring of the underground parking garage where he was supposed to meet up with his ride. Apparently, he wasn't fit to drive himself- mostly because he wasn't old enough yet. But also, he didn't really know how to, but he was sure he could've figured it out.

According to Mori, he would never actually be allowed to drive because his eyesight, with the partial blindness to his right eye, wouldn't meet the legal requirements for having a license.

That was annoying. Chuuya was already riding a light motorcycle and was saving up to buy a motorbike once he turned eighteen in a couple of months. The vertically impaired mafioso didn't miss a single chance to rub it in his face.

Sighing heavily, Dazai leaned against a stone column, looking at the clock on his phone impatiently. His driver was late, and he had had a growing uneasiness in his stomach all day. Something about this mission just didn't sit right with him.

The meeting he'd just attended with the clients didn't make him calmer. This guy seemed like a rich, power-hungry sleazeball.

Even Mori had some reluctance when accepting this mission, but it was apparently nothing a hefty payment couldn't fix, so he'd send his brightest executive to negotiate the details.

So now, Dazai was standing there, freezing his butt off in the frigid Yokohama autumn chill, wrapping his coat tightly around himself and looking for a car matching the description they had gotten earlier that day.

Finally, twenty minutes after the time they had agreed on, a black SUV rolled slowly in his direction. Dazai immediately disliked the tinted windows and felt his hand twitch against the pocket in his jacket where he held his gun.

_Wait- where he should have held his gun. Where the fuck was his gun?!_

Distracted by the swift realization, several hooded figures got out of the car and grabbed him brutally, giving him a sharp blow to the solar plexus that made him buckle over and heave for air, before they pulled him into the waiting car.

Dazai wasted no time in fighting back. As soon as he had gathered himself a little, taking advantage of the fact that they _(hopefully) _thought he was still subdued, he tore himself away, leaving his coat in their grasps and threw himself at the door before they were able to close them properly.

He caught himself, scratching his knees and palms at the hard stone flooring and quickly got up on his feet and ran as fast as he could between the several parked cars, making it as hard as possible for them to follow him with their vehicle.

Glancing back, he could see that some of his pursuers were chasing him on foot, while the car backed away. They were shouting at each other in a different language that Dazai couldn't place- likely European.

He turned his head towards where he was running again. Abruptly, his vision went black and his body slammed into something big and hard. He bounced back, discombobulated and peered up at an oversized man, grinning viciously down at him.

The man was holding a classic Japanese tuna filèing knife. The long slender blade gleamed in the dim lighting of the garage, looking like a shimmering bolt of lightning in his hands.

A sadistic smile stretched unnaturally across his face as he let the light play off the blade, and Dazai already envisioned how the blood would run down the steel after tearing through his flesh.

Like an echo of his thoughts, the man quickly launched forward, piercing through Dazai's stomach with the cold knife. Dazai's hands shot up to grab at the blade, trying, failing to stop it from going further into his body.

At first, he felt nothing. He could clearly see the sizable knife sticking out of the side of his stomach, but somehow, the pain didn't register.

The man retracted the knife forcefully, cutting even deeper into the palms of Dazai's hands as it slipped out of his body. Dazai stumbled back a few steps, clutching at his wound.

Someone grabbed him from behind and turned him around, yelling at him in heavily accented Japanese that he was unable to comprehend. His mind was fuzzy and he was starting to feel nauseous and dizzy.

The hooded figure let go of his shirt, and Dazai tumbled to the ground, quickly crawling in the other direction where he was met with a kick to the face by a heavy boot. The rest of the group had caught up to them, and he was now completely surrounded.

_Why the hell don't they just kill me and get it over with?_

Another kick was dealt to his back, and soon, workman boots and fists pounded all over him like an avalanche. His left hand suddenly landed under one of the bulky boots, and he heard the sickening crack of bones breaking.

Dazai crawled in on himself, trying to protect his vitals. The gut wound had started to bleed heavily, leaving a crimson puddle where he was lying.

The car once again approached them and stopped a couple of feet away. If they were going to try and take him again, it might leave a window open for escape.

Dazai braced himself, waiting for the right moment. His body screamed with pain, but he knew that if they had wanted him dead yet, they would have done it already. They had plenty of opportunities. This could only mean that they were either going to take him as a hostage or torture him for information.

Both scenarios seemed equally undesirable.

As soon as one of the men encircling him turned away, he jolted forward and flung himself out of the circle of men, unsteadily getting to his feet and ran off, trying his best to block out the searing anguish that radiated through his body.

This time, he wasn't going to make the mistake of looking back. Only concentrating on getting as much distance between himself and the group of ruffians, he held his breath and ran for the staircase at the end of the large room.

He threw the door open and started his journey up the stairs. His heart raced and he could taste an unappetizing blend of bile and blood in his mouth. With his right arm, he clung onto the wound as tightly as he could, while his left hand was cradled slightly on top of it.

The door behind him slammed open, and he picked up his pace. The hope of reaching ground level was quickly diminishing, so he slammed open the first door he found and headed for a different set of stairs at the other end of the parking lot.

Thank God he was fast. His lanky legs were the center of many jokes, but they sure came in handy. For some time, he had kept running, entering different staircases and changing between running up and down the steps to confuse his hunters.

The issue was that he had also confused himself. Usually, his sense of direction was impeccable- one of the perks of having a nearly photographic memory. But the blood loss was really starting to get to him and his mind wasn't working as fast as it usually did.

Small, black dots swarmed across his sight, and all of a sudden, he felt faint. His arm automatically reached out to steady himself on the wall, leaving a bloodied handprint on it.

_This was bad._

Unable to part from the wall, he carefully made his way towards a new door, leaning sluggishly towards his only mean of support, trying to stay awake.

A buzzing was felt in his pant-pocket, and he remembered his phone. Sighing in relief, he let himself slide to the floor behind a car and struggled a little to use his right arm to pick up the phone in the opposite pocket.

Never had Chuuya's nickname been _so _welcoming on the screen of his phone. Taking one last glance around the nearly empty garage, holding his breath and listening for footsteps, he finally clicked on the accept button.

"_Where the hell are you?! You were supposed to report back at the HQ over an hour ago! I'm so sick of always running late because of your inconsideration for anyone but yourself, shitty macke-" _

"Shut up and listen for a moment," Dazai croaked out, surprising even himself with the unsteadiness of his voice.

"_...you sound like you are in pain. Where are you?" _Chuuya answered grimly.

Just as the words crackled through the cellphone, the door Dazai had previously entered from was kicked open with overwhelming force, almost making it fall off its hinges. Foreign words echoed through the cement structure, and Dazai knew immedietly that he was out of time.

The trails of his blood had lead them to him.

"I'm still at the Yokohama Airway Service. In the parking garage under the building," he scratched out silently, feeling panic creep upon him and the strangling anticipation of getting caught. "...but it might not be for much longer. Just hurry."

The voices grew louder, and Dazai could see the shadows of several men approaching.

"_Who is that?" _Chuuya demanded urgently, but Dazai had already pocketed his phone, leaving the call going, keeping up their communication.

Now he could only hope that they would make it in time, but he wouldn't go down without a fight. There wasn't much he could do in his current state, so his best bet was to try and stall them as much as possible.

Once again placing his hand to the bleeding wound, gritting his teeth and winching as the pain increased with the added pressure, he crawled away from his hiding spot and stayed low and close to the wall, leaving a bloodied pathway behind him.

Moving was getting more difficult, and he couldn't lean on his quick pace any longer. There simply was no way. The world around him was turning blurry, and the sounds more muffled. Whoops and jeering was heard from the pursuers, and he knew they had spotted him.

Still, he kept dragging himself forward, stressing his brilliant mind to come up with a plan. But there was none. He was weaponless, weak and injured. His plan B was Chuuya. It was _always _Chuuya.

Finally, his body gave up and he collapsed on the floor, feeling the puddle of blood around him growing and getting his dress shirt wet and sticky. His head felt like it was filled with cotton, and his eyelids couldn't be heavier if they had lead hanging from them. At least the cold ground felt nice towards his flushed cheeks.

He was also noticing how cold he was. Running around had made him able to keep his temperature up, and the adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins had made him able to push himself up until this point.

Now, he was empty. He was hurting, cold and unable to move another inch.

The black-clad figures were standing over him, watching him and mumbling to each other. A set of harsh hands turned him on his back, while Dazai was just lying there, looking up at them and wondering when they were going to put him out of his misery.

"J-just... _kill me," _he wheezed pleadingly. Sincerely. "What the _fuck_ are you waiting for?"

A hole in the circle of men appeared and the man from before with the tuna-knife walked slowly towards them with the same sickly smile as he had before. The blade was still covered in blood, _his blood_, dulling the shine but not its animosity.

The man came to a halt in front of Dazai, closing the gap and said a couple of words in that same foreign language. Then, he leaned over him, hands closed around the shaft of the knife, and raised it over his head.

Dazai closed his eyes, waiting for impact.

It never came.

Carefully, he squinted his left eye, checking what the delay was about. The man was still standing in the same position with the same unnerving grin, except, there was now blood seeping out between his clenched teeth.

As the body fell to the floor by Dazai's legs, the rest of the group turned around in alarm, looking for whatever had struck their comrade. A flash of crimson lighting flew across the room, and a vision of blurred black and red moved effortlessly with it, striking down the eight men left before they could reach for any weapons.

The short man stopped a couple of feet away, smirking while brushing off his gloved hands, looking behind him and making sure he'd taken them all out.

"Mah, was that the big hassle?" he chirped smugly, turning around to look for Dazai. The glee instantly fell from his face when he saw the state his partner was in.

Dazai was lying on his back on the floor, bruises and cuts coating his face, as well as hand-shaped streaks of blood. His left hand was tinted a purplish blue, and several of his fingers were bent in unnatural angles. The white shirt he always wore under the black coat (that was nowhere in sight), was more red than white at this point.

"D-Dazai," Chuuya uttered. His triumphant expression had quickly turned distressed. The red-headed mafioso swiftly covered the distance between them and kneeled down to help his partner.

"You were quick," Dazai smiled weakly but grateful. "I was ready for them to finally do me in."

"Yeah, well... I was already out looking for you," Chuuya reluctantly admitted. "The boss asked me to go check on you when you didn't show up on time. He wasn't all the way convinced that this mission was completely legit."

The questioning look on Dazai's face made Chuuya elaborate.

"He was suspicious that this was just a way of taking you hostage and demand a hefty ransom. They've apparently been struggling financially for some time, so the enormous amount of money they offered for our services seemed a bit odd."

Dazai slowly blinked a couple of times, trying and failing to catch his breath to speak.

"_Asshole._"

"Yeah, I wasn't too happy about it either..." Chuuya sneered, trying to seem unfazed but doing a terrible job at doing so. "You know, I'll never be able to make it to the top if I'm unable to use corruption again because my nullifier has gone and kicked the bucket."

A choked laugh escaped Dazai's throat but was interrupted by a painful coughing fit.

"Just hang in there a little bit longer. Mori is on his way. He'll patch you up in no time."

All Dazai could answer that with was an ugly grimace. The only thing worse than being under the care of a hospital was being under the care of their boss.

"I kinda wish I had died," he was able to spit out, receiving a playful wack across the head from Chuuya.

"I'm not gonna let anybody kill you," Chuuya assured him sternly. "I have more reasons to end you than anyone else, so that pleasure will be all mine when the time comes."

Dazai smiled crookedly, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment.

"Oy, shitty Mackerell. Stay awake, okay? You can sleep when you're dead, not _until _you're dead, shithead."

Chuuya gently wormed his arms under Dazai's neck and helped him rest his head on his lap, shrugging off his jacket and laying it protectively over Dazai's shaky form.

Shortly after, a car entered the garage, stopping close-by with Mori jumping out. The head of the Port Mafia walked hurriedly towards them. Winching, he took in the shape of his youngest executive.

"Dammit, I knew I should have planted someone around the property to look out for you," he growled, almost stumbling over the dead bodies that lay around the two mafiosos like a daffodil. Dazai let out a small groan, and Chuuya forced himself to keep quiet.

_Of course, he fucking should have. _

"Are all of them dead?" Mori continued, prodding one of the bodies with the tip of his shoe.

"Pretty darn dead," Chuuya scoffed. "So, if you don't _mind, _I think shitty-Dazai over here needs your attention a little more than them."

Mori sent a venomous glare at Chuuya, but let it slide. "Our medics are getting the gurney ready as we speak," he informed instead, and calmly settled himself down with one knee on the ground, and gave Dazai a swift once-over.

"They really did a number on you kid, didn't they?" he chuckled, but without humor in his voice.

"I t-think they stole... m-my gun d-during the... m-meeting," Dazai was able to breath out, his voice nearly gone from the weakness of his battered body.

Mori seemed unimpressed but didn't press the matter any further. The medics were approaching with the stretcher, so instead, he moved out of the way, picking up a couple of latex gloves from the pockets of his white doctor's coat he had put on for the occasion and started walking towards the Port Mafia ambulance to get ready for treating Dazai on their way back to the infirmary.

"You'll be all right, Dazai," Chuuya assured Dazai serenely as the carrying bed was lowered to the ground, and the medical personnel was making preparations for moving Dazai.

As Chuuya was about to stand up and give the medics some space, Dazai's injured hand brushed against his thigh.

"Oy, careful with that," Chuuya scolded mildly, meeting Dazai's half-lidded eyes.

The dark-haired man mouthed something, and Chuuya had to lean in closer to hear what he was saying.

"C-can I go to sleep now?" Dazai whispered sleepily before an oxygen mask was placed over his nose and mouth. Warm brown eyes still peered up at the shorter man, questionably.

Chuuya chuckled lightly, nodding and giving his partner of the past three years a sincere smile.

"Sure Mackerell, go to sleep. As long as you promise me that you'll wake up again so I can murder you later."

* * *

**I actually need to thank my boyfriend for his help on this one (though most of his input will be used in a different story). I'm not sure if I should be concerned or not by his extended knowledge about knives, blood spatter and the sensation of getting stabbed, but I'll ignore it for my own benefit.**


	7. Unconscious

**Whumptober 2019 #9: Shackles - Bungou Stray Dogs**

**Summary:**  
**On a mission with the Agency, Dazai is avoiding to face his fear of sleeping in the company of others.**

* * *

"Uhu, no."

"Kunikida-kun..."

"No."

"I don't see the big deal..."

"Still no."

"In that case, I have to make it an order."

"B-but, director..."

To Kunikida's defense, he held his sulks rather stoically for a twenty-four-year-old who was throwing a fit inside a hotel lobby.

"You and Dazai-kun is sharing a room, and that's final," Fukuzawa announced dryly, if not a _little _miffed. They were all tired from traveling and were looking forward to spending the night in the comfort of a fancy hotel.

The Agency had been given a mission by a large corporation in Akita. It wasn't a particularly complicated mission, and they expected it to mostly be of the theoretical kind, which was why Fukuzawa, Kunikida, Dazai and Ranpo had gone, instead of the agents with the more physical abilities like Atsushi, Kyouka and Kenji.

Really, if it hadn't been for the fact that the company they'd been hired employed a large number of ability users, it would have been a police matter more than anything.

Kunikida growled defeatedly, trying his hardest to ignore the bandaged nuisance that stood behind him, leaning his head on his shoulder and grinning triumphantly.

Not only did he have to sit with him on the train, listening to the cacophony of Dazai's double suicide composition, but now he had to room with him too.

He usually didn't long to spend any prolonged amount of time with the miniature detective either, who, despite almost being nearly thirty years old was licking a lollipop vigorously while the Armed Detective President was literally helping him with a wry zipper on his coat. But, considering the alternative, he'd take that infantile genius any day.

"Well, let's hit the hay," Dazai announced cheerily, grabbing the keycard from the reception clerk as she was about to hand it over to Kunikida, leaving the idealistic man fuming with fury.

_Calm down, Droppo. It would be highly unideal to blow a fuse as early in the mission like this. You can hang in there for a couple of days. You're a strong person. You can fight the urge to strangle him._

"Hey, MacGyver," Dazai singsonged happily. If Kunikida had been a little more alert, he would have stopped himself from reacting to such a stupid nickname. Unfortunately, he did look up at the dark-haired idiot, standing a couple of steps up in the staircase, giving him _exactly_ what he wanted. _Attention._

"Snoozer's losers!" Dazai splurted out and jolted up the stairs with childlike glee.

_I __**can**__ fight the urge to strangle him._

* * *

The hotel room was spacious and nice, with dark wood parquet floors and crème colored walls with one accent wall in paneling that matched the floors. The lights radiated warmth, which could almost remind one of the illuminations of a fireplace. Two single beds were placed in the middle of the room, both with frames in a pleasant brown color, covered in light bedsheets and bedspreads that matched the rest of the tasteful interior.

Dazai noticed how the surroundings immediately soothed Kunikida's sour mood. _Good, _he thought.

Personally, he had never understood how one's habitat could affect one's mood that much. He had never been one for materialism. Really, he was more than satisfied as long as he had a roof over his head. A bed and a blanket were a bonus, and an own bathroom with bathroom facilities was simply a luxury.

He guessed he preferred the simplicity of having nothing more but the bare necessities. As an executive in the Port Mafia, he had been completely overwhelmed by the opulence of his executive suite. His dorm room at the Agency felt much more comfortable to him.

"Well, I guess we should go to bed. We have an early start tomorrow," Kunikida determined, placing his suitcase on the bed he had decided on _(the one farthest from the window, because the air seeps through the cracks and can give you a throat or ear infection, _Dazai mimicked in his mind), and started to unpack the neatly folded clothes inside.

Dazai shoved his own light traveling bag inside the larger space of the closet, ignoring the disapproving glare from his partner, before shrugging off his jacket and gingerly placing it on a wooden hanger before hanging it inside and shutting the door.

The only thing he grabbed from his bag before tossing it aside, was his toiletries which he brought with him into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

At least, seemingly, getting ready for bed.

This was exactly what Dazai had dreaded. This mission was going to take at least a week to complete, and he would have to share a bedroom this whole time. Usually, he would unwrap his bandages at night to let his skin breathe, but that was out of the question.

The worst part of this whole trip was that he couldn't remember the last time he had gotten an undisturbed night of sleep. There was a lot about his past he couldn't remember. It seemed to have been blocked out of his mind, and he had no desire of getting those pieces of his life back. But at night when unconscious, things tended to come back to him.

Nightmares would terrorize him every single night when he was able to sleep. Once, after an especially long time of being unable to even shut his eyes without being struck by his past abuse like a lightning bolt, Yosano had slipped him a bottle of sleeping aids. Apparently, he looked like shit (_her words)_ and it was clear he wasn't getting enough sleep.

That night he had tried them. Reading the possible side effects being nausea, headaches, sleepiness (_well duh), _he saw that one of them were actually suicidal thoughts- so, if he wasn't able to get a peaceful night of sleep from them, there still might be _something _good to come from of it.

It was the worst night he could remember ever having _(at least sleeping wise)._

Before even falling asleep, he started hallucinating terrifying images. The branches scratching at his windows suddenly turned into fingers grasping at the henges and trying to get in. The ceiling was suddenly melting and faceless people were appearing out of the shadows gliding against the walls, throwing their grisly chains after him and trying to pull him back into the hell his mind had been gracious enough to suppress.

And when he was incapable of keeping himself awake, he'd been trapped inside the night terrors for several hours, the drugs making it impossible to tear himself awake.

_That night had covered more of his horrid past than any night before or since. _

So, he had already decided that he wasn't going to sleep on this mission. He was completely capable of going several days without sleep, he'd done it many times.

An entire week though, he was unsure about, but he would do the best he could.

Finishing brushing his teeth and changing his bandages, an ordeal that usually took him about forty-five minutes, he changed into his sleeping attire, a long-sleeved cotton shirt in white and black sweatpants, and returned to Kunikida in their joint room.

"About time, what the hell were you even doing in there?" Kunikida growled irritated.

"Stealing soap," Dazai shrugged and settled into his bed.

"Are you insane?" Kunikida snapped, starting a tirade about professionalism, hygiene (because; could they _really _know if they set out new soap to every new guest? They might re-melt old bars or refill bottles with old soap- to which Dazai answered that in which case, it was a good thing that he took it so they couldn't reuse it anymore) and the general criminal system because of it was _technically _a criminal offense to steal _anything_.

Dazai tuned his partner out. He actually enjoyed the familiar background noise before the dreaded night. There was something comforting about the normality of it, reminding him that everything was _actually _just like it was supposed to be and that nothing was going to lurk out from the dark corners or try to get in through the windows in spite the fact that they were currently residing on the thirteenth floor.

While Kunikida set the timer for his nightly ritual, Dazai settled in for the night, putting on his earphones and sinking underneath the hospitality of his thick comforter.

* * *

The next day, Kunikida woke up at six in the morning like he always did. Even if everyone wasn't going to meet up until nine, Dazai knew that Kunikida would never, not even on the weekends, sleep in late.

Dazai was grateful for the predictability of his partner's actions. That meant that he could lay down and pretend to be asleep before he woke up. Dazai had spent the night reading over the mission files more times than he cared to hold a count of, as well as re-reading his trusted favorite book, gathering inspiration in case the mission would become extremely tedious and he had to concoct a suicide poison of office supplies.

Ink or battery acid seemed like his safest bets- sniffing sharpies would likely just make the work more entertaining, and before he would even know it, they might have another "mushroom incident" on their hands.

Kunikida had _not _been happy with him that day (_which was reason enough for a repetition)_.

The day went by painfully slowly. It was apparent that he would be stuck in a vacant office for the majority of the week, trying to crack hidden codes left by the culprits to communicate between each other in a series of sealed documents.

It seemed like work suited best for Ranpo, but the kid wasn't even able to figure out how to turn on the damn computer, so that left the boring part of their mission to him.

Once nighttime dawned upon them once again, Dazai repeated his schpiel, getting ready for bed and settling under the covers without much hassle, pretending to be asleep before Kunikida was done in the bathroom.

He had started to become tired now, but he knew he had another night in him easily.

* * *

The day after looked much like the day before, with him downing coffee, locked inside the office, scrolling through hundreds of pages of numbers and codes, trying to keep himself alert of any series of numbers that didn't seem to add up.

It was getting harder now. His eyesight seemed to double from time to time if he didn't stay fixated, and he fell in and out of concentration, staring sheepishly onto the screen, scrolling down the pages mindlessly.

* * *

On the fourth day, he had started getting concerned glances from his coworkers.

He wasn't blind_ (just nearly, but only on the one eye)_, he could see the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror, and he had a constant twitch at the edge of his left one.

He felt it too. He was so tired that turning his head towards the president to answer his question_ (that he had no idea what was)_ at their morning meeting, felt like he had to rotate a small mountain all on his own.

"...your daily report, do you have it?" Fukuzawa repeated. Dazai couldn't remember if he asked him to repeat or not, but he nodded carefully, not wanting to rattle his aching head more than necessary, and pulled outa neatly assembled folder and handed it over.

"There's definitely some correspondence there. It's subtle. They're using a..." He couldn't remember the word for it. Frowning slightly, he made a gesture at them to forget about it. "Ranpo can figure it out. I've highlighted what I could find."

The rest of the meeting went by without much input from him. Only small noises of approval or disapproval when he was being addressed directly, and he was seriously starting to consider sniffing on the sharpies for a shot of energy.

It was almost a relief once he was able to lock himself back into the dark room with the computer and cases of flash drives.

Heavily, he collapsed into the comfortable chair he'd been provided with and poured himself a cup of coffee before booting up the computer and busying himself with his work.

* * *

Before he even realized it, he jerked awake, quickly realizing he had nodded off. Two weary hands came up to drag over his face, and for a short while, he just sat there, resting his head while trying to wipe the fatigue from his facial features.

He wasn't sure if he could do this anymore. At some point, he would _have _to get some shut-eye. Knowing from experience that clinical depression tended to become so much worse from a couple of days without sleep, as well as the increased paranoia that his state of mind could _not _handle.

The problem was, that the paranoia he would feel when sleep-deprived, was not the same kind of paranoia he _should _have felt then and there. Because if he did, he might have been more altered to the shadow that lurked behind him.

Before he could register the firm grasp on his hair, his head was thrown forwards, hitting the keyboard at high force. Immediately, he felt his nose crack on impact and he glided, stunned, to the floor.

Within seconds after hitting the floor, a boot stomped on his chest. The wind got knocked out of him, and he struggled to get his body to obey his commands. A little too late, he grabbed at the boot, but it slipped through his fingers before it came down on him once again. A choked gasp escaped him before he kicked with his feet, trying to roll over and get up.

The unknown apparition got in another few hits before he was on his feet.

Dazai blocked the next couple of punches as the culprit seemed to start charging an ability induced attack. Dazai calmly touched the person, and the energy he was producing between his hands was killed off instantly.

Using the moment of confusion to his advantage, Dazai grabbed the dark-clad figure by the shoulder and spun him around, pressing him violently against the wall.

Finally, footsteps were heard outside, and the door was quickly unlocked.

Fukuzawa and Kunikida entered, stun gun and katana raised, ready for attack. Ranpo was standing a couple of feet behind them, curious while on guard.

"Dazai, are you okay?" Fukuzawa inquired grimly, slowly lowering his weapon as he deemed the situation under control.

Dazai tried to sniff in the blood streaming from his nose before he turned around, but the flow was too heavy and he had to admit defeat and let it flow freely.

"Peachy," he grinned as convincingly as he could, not loosening his hold on his attacker until Kunikida came to take over.

Dazai let go and slowly waggled away in a sudden dizzy spell, steadying himself against the wall. He didn't even realize that he drifted down to a sitting position on the floor before Fukuzawa leaned down and held a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, Kunikida can take care of things here. I'll take you to a doctor."

He was sure he argued against it, but the next time Dazai found himself aware of his surroundings, he sat on the examination table at a doctor's office, getting his broken nose forced back into place with a wet cracking sound.

Apparently, he had broken his nose and a rib and needed a few stitches on the bridge of his nose and over his right eyebrow.

At this point, he felt so out of it that he was unable to argue when Fukuzawa decided to steady him back into the waiting car once he was fixed up, and followed him back to his hotel room.

Once inside, he was discarded on his bed, where he fell asleep instantly.

* * *

_He was shackled to the wall. Tight, rough chains bore into his fragile skin as he tried to wiggle his wrists out of them, adding to the burning, bleeding marks varnishing his juvenile skin. _

_He had figured out how to dislocate his thumbs now, making it easier to slip his hands through the firm iron rings of his cuffs._

_So now, they had placed another cuff around his neck. Even if he tired- he couldn't dislocate that. Not if he wanted to get away from here._

_There was no way in hell that he'd give them the satisfaction of killing himself in here- they were **not **going to see him crumble. **Not **going to see him give up. He was going to keep breathing until the day he could look them in the eyes as they **bled out and suffered from the same torture they had inflicted upon him for years on end.  
**_  
_He was going to live until the day he could hear them **scream in agony. **Hear them **beg **for release._

_**Years **went by before he could do that. **Years **of **burning** hot branding irons, electricity, and painful medical experiments. **Years** of watching clones of himself being developed inside test tubes, maturing inside small bottles of liquid and being born from sick DNA splicing and engineering._

_His clones always turned out **so** macabre._

_Usually developing an extra body part or completely missing one._

_The ones that clearly was lacking his ability of nullification were slain as soon as they were "born", and the ones who did, usually died a long agonizing death from organ failure, if they were ever viable at all._

_Their remains were laying there, rotting inside his holding cell. He couldn't even smell it anymore, he was so used to it._

_His head hurt. It always did when he was starting to remember something._

_Something he had forgotten and was fighting its way to the surface, usually making his grim existence even more unbearable._

_What triggered it this time, seemed to be the new chain around his neck. _

_...it was raining. His clothes felt heavy, making his emaciated body struggle even harder to move._

_The memory was blue- usually symbolizing that it was **bad. **All his memories were blue or red._  
_**  
But the red ones had only come recently, and he hadn't even been granted the fortune of suppressing them yet.**_

_He was staggering along, suddenly dropping to his knees in a puddle, quickly being pulled up by the chain around his neck by... **someone**._

_A man._

_He didn't have a face, **but he still visited in his dreams sometimes.**_

_It was the day he got here- he hadn't even realized that there was a **before. **For the longest time, he thought he was one of the experiments. The clones._

_...maybe he was. Maybe he was just that **one successful** clone, abilities, memories and all from the original host._

_**Fuck! He was such an abomination- he had never had the right to be alive at all. No wonder life was so painful.**_

_And then, they were back, those nameless, faceless scientists, and he knew it was time for another round of... of..._

_...of what exactly, he wasn't sure. He only remembered it would be cruel and extremely agonizing._

_The cuffs were taken off- but it didn't matter. He didn't have the strength to hold himself up anyway. His head thudded to the stone floor, while his hands laid uselessly by his side, his body unable to move. _

_New shackles were added, and he felt his already dislocated elbows being tugged forward, forcing him to **try **and stand up but he **couldn't **only **stumble** his way after them, as fast as he was physically able._

_Once inside the room (the **room**\- the- the **fucking room**), he understood what was going to happen._

_He couldn't quite **see **it but he still **knew **and it was **bad **he had done **bad **and it was **starting all over again.  
**_  
_He was hurled onto the table (the **cold** table, the one that always **hurt** and he didn't **want **to **please** don't-) and leather straps were being tightly fastened on his head, chest, arms, abdomen, and feet._

_The doctor prepared the **needle **that was supposed to make him mellow and **obey **but it **hurt- hurt so much **and it slowly, agonizingly slowly, was being lowered towards his..._

"Dazai!"

Finally catching his breath, he threw himself off the bed he suddenly _knew _he was lying on and scrambled across the floor, pushing his back against the wall _(because the wall is safe, no one can come up from behind- no one can surprise me and I can fight if they do) _and curled tightly in on himself, hiding behind his knees and simultaneously protecting his vitals.

_How long had he forgotten to breathe?_

He was out of breath, panting before he realized that he wasn't tied down anymore.

_And he was certainly not alone. Shit._

Hesitantly, he looked up and into the somber, steeled gaze of Fukuzawa, who was standing over him in a slight crouch. Dazail looked to his sides, making sure that there weren't any more spectators before he warily brushed both of his hands through his hair, winching a little as his fingers brushed over the newly stitched wound over his eyebrow.

"I had a bad dream," Dazai chuckled apologetically, trying his best to glue on a smile for his superior.

"Yes, you seem to be prone to those," Fukuzawa answered gravely, not averting his eyes from his subordinate.

"Tsk, not really," Dazai tried but understood that his bluff had been caught long before this moment. He lowered his head, resting it on his knees while waiting for Fukuzawa's verdict.

The silver-haired man used a bit more time than Dazai had anticipated before he spoke again.

"I'm sorry about this."

His reply made Dazai's slightly swollen eyes peer up. Unintelligible, he uttered a weak, "Huh?"

"I'm sorry for putting you through this. I know sharing rooms is hard for you."

Dazai had no idea where this was coming from. How in the world could Fukuzawa know about his nightmares?

Unable to say anything in return, he just looked quizzically at his elder.

"I've read Yosano's reports, Dazai-kun. I know about your nightmares. They've occurred every time you've been committed to the infirmary since you started with us, and I don't think I have to tell you that it's been quite a lot of times during these past years."

There was a small pause, clearly left for Dazai to say something. But when he didn't, Fukuzawa continued.

"So, I know how you struggle with sleeping. And I knew before going on this mission that you'd have a hard time... I know you, Dazai-kun. You wouldn't want to be a nuisance. Unfortunately, we only got these two rooms, the rest of the hotel is stacked. I thought that sharing a room with Kunikida would be the best way for you to relax. If I could, I'd put Ranpo, Kunikida and myself in one room and you by yourself... but that would've been a bit strange..."

Dazai was slowly beginning to relax now that his boss was starting to speak a little more informally. He always liked to witness the humanity of the usually stoic man.

Lowering his shoulders a bit and working on the strength to get back to bed, the trembling in his knees made it clear to him that he wasn't ready to move just yet.

Now, he felt like he needed to say something. Something to disarm the situation.

"I..." was all he could muster before his voice broke off and he had to settle back into his defensive seat on the floor.

Fukuzawa seemed saddened by it, which only crushed Dazai's heart. He never wanted to see the man who had taken a chance on him when no one else would in such disarray because of his own foolishness. He loathed himself for it.

"If it's of any consolation, the guy you caught has admitted to everything. He's given us all the names of his culprits, and we're looking at a hefty bonus for finishing the job early."

Dazai mustered up a smile, tired eyes creaking at the raising of his cheekbones.

Fukuzawa retuned it and leaned down, helping Dazai stand up and settle onto the bed.

"Now, I want you to sleep. We're not leaving until tomorrow morning, and the rest of us have a lot of work to do down at the police station. You've done your part and then some. We probably won't return until late. Will you be okay here by yourself?"

Dazai was already half-asleep on the bed but nodded vaguely before letting out a deep, easy exhale and grabbed onto his pillow. Never had he been comfortable being in such a vulnerable position in front of _anyone. _He wasn't sure if it simply was exhaustion or if it was... _trust? _But for the first time since he didn't know when, he felt happy to settle into bed, for several hours of a good night's sleep.

Fukuzawa stayed with him until soft snores were heard steadily with each breath of Dazai's broken nose. Then, he gingerly pulled the comforter over him, before shutting the lights and exiting the room.

Ranpo and Kunikida were waiting outside.

"How's he doing?" Ranpo asked worriedly with a slight knot between his eyebrows.

"Better," Fukuzawa answered with a soft smile, ruffling his _as-good-as-adopted_ son's head over his hat.

"Is he asleep?" Kunikida asked grimly, trying to get a look inside the room before Fukuzawa carefully closed the door, trying to make it as soundless as possible to not jostle their sleeping coworker.

"For now," the silver-fox replied earnestly.

There wasn't any quick-fix to Dazai's issues, but this was a start as good as any.

The three of them walked silently towards the second hotel room, ready to settle in for the night.

It was time for Dazai to rest comfortably.

And if that meant for one of three grown men to swallow their pride and sleep on a sofabed, that would just have to do.


	8. Stitches

**Whumptober 2019 #10: Unconscious - Bungou Stray Dogs**

**Summary:**  
**Oda is fixing Dazai up after an impulsive midnight swim in the Yokohama river.**

* * *

Usually, Oda would reprimand Dazai for not eating enough. The kid was as skinny as a twig and probably weighed somewhere near the same amount. The young mafia executive would hide his frail physique well beneath layers of dark clothing.

But, when one had carried him home, drunk and dead to the world from Lupin as many times as Oda had, he had learned better then to let the oversized coat fool him to think that the kid was anything but severely undernourished.

Tonight though, he was a little relieved that the kid wasn't heavier than he was.

Dazai was once again, like so many times before, slung over his back, being carried through the dimly lit back alleys of Yokohama by his older subordinate. His coat weighed heavily on his shoulders, being weighed down by the water he had been pulled out from only a couple of minutes before.

His hair was sticking to his face, small coughs gurgling wetly in his lungs while his arms hung limply by his sides. A large gash, bruised and irritated was still bleeding from his forehead after the impact with the bottom of the river, staining his already bandaged head with large spots of bright crimson red.

Oda's mind had been at ease the moment he got the kid breathing. Not that Dazai didn't seem to be utterly immortal- but it was still always a relief to see the clear signs that he had failed to end his life once again.

Usually, whenever Dazai would try something stupid like this, Oda would take his phone and call for the boss. Then, a little while later, the customary, subtle black SUV that most of the Mafia drove around in would pull over, and one of the muscleheads that acted as Mori's bodyguards would appear, picking Dazai up and taking him to be patched up with no questions asked.

Unfortunately, Dazai's phone was dead after the midnight swim, and Oda didn't have the authority to access Mori's number from his low-ranked position in the mafia.

That was how he found himself, giving an unconscious Port Mafia executive a piggyback ride through one of the more shifty parts of town, at nearly four in the morning.

Walking to the headquarters where the infirmary was located, was out of the question. It was too far, and Oda's shoulders had already started to complain under the added weight from the soggy heap on his back. Taking a bus would catch them too much attention, and Oda couldn't afford a cab. Dazai probably could, but his wallet was soaked, and its contents would probably not even be recognized as money now.

So, Oda had decided to bring Dazai home with him. He'd rather take him to the ER, but the one time he had done that, Dazai had freaked out once he'd regained consciousness and made Oda promise that he would _never _do such a thing again.

Oda had been confused- but knew better than to ask any questions. Questions meant answers, and answers from Dazai would either be completely ridiculously untrue, or _too _real. Real to a point where Oda wished he'd gone back to telling the overexaggerated fabrications of some fantastic fictional event that could barely have occurred in a science fiction novel.

_But, with Dazai you could never really know, could you?_

Stopping outside the two-story building with the cafè on the first floor and his apartment on the second, Oda dutifully brushed his shoes off before entering.

The hallway was dark, and he had to struggle not to make too much noise and wake up the kids or Miss Anne, the elderly woman who had taken himself in once, more than twenty years ago.

He gingerly chipped his shoes off, sliding them with his foot to stand neatly against the wall, next to five pairs of children's shoes, and one pair of small, elegant, oldfashioned women's shoes.

Listlessly, he walked towards his own bedroom and closed the door quietly behind them before easing Dazai off his back, down onto the cot at the far end of the sparsely furnished room.

Dazai was sickly pale, probably frozen to the point of light hypothermia. His lips were tinted in a faint blue color, and his body was shaking vigorously.

Oda slipped off the wet coat, frowning slightly when his eyes trailed over the added layers of bandages on the young man's forearms.

He finished undressing Dazai from his wet clothing, covering the trembling form with a blanket before returning to his closet to find some dry and comfortable clothes for Dazai to sleep in. He would have to remove the wet bandages too, but he wanted to find the clothes first.

Somehow, even if the boy was already lying naked in his bed, removing the bandages without giving him some new clothes first would just make him _too _naked. Oda wasn't squeamish about things like this, he only did what needed to be done- still, he wouldn't be able to bear seeing Dazai as fragile as that.

Returning to the bed, Dazai seemed to have calmed down a little. The sudden spasms between the quaking had almost stopped, and hopefully, he would gather a more healthy pallor soon.

Oda pulled the covers back down, revealing Dazai's torso, receiving a small whine in reply from his patient before he eased the thin, woolen fabric of one of his everyday-sweatshirts over the mop of moist locks that clung to Dazai's head. It was already a loose-fitting top, but on Dazai, it looked like a tent, only making the form in the bed look even smaller, even more helpless. Sad and pretty as a heartache.

_Was there one thing that people didn't think about Osamu Dazai, was that he was helpless. He was rumored to be a heartless, unfeeling killing machine- an inhumane demon. But oh how wrong they were. Oda only wished Dazai knew that too._

_That Dazai was a good kid. Stray, mislead and horribly broken, but still, good. _

He had to remember to tell him that some time.

Finishing leading the limp arms through the loose sleeves, Oda rolled them up and started unraveling the battered arms underneath. He already knew what he would see once the bandaging was removed, but it still made him feel sick to his stomach.

There were always new wounds littering Dazai's skin. Some self-inflicted, some not. Oda assessed the ratio to be about 50/50. He had tried to talk to him about the first kinds of scars several times, but Dazai would only brush it off like no big deal, joking about picking up embroidery but being out of fabric so he had to get creative, or simply just ignoring him, starting to ramble wide-eyed about something completely different with forced, childlike glee.

And Oda let it slide, every single time. He figured it was more important to remind Dazai that someone cared about him than to have him admit to having a problem.

He sighed at the realization that he wouldn't have enough bandages to cover Dazai back up and decided that he would just have to endure while his clothes were drying off by the radiator.

The bandages he did have, was mostly spent on covering Dazai's neck, which was harder to conceal with the clothing. He taped a piece of gauze to the still bleeding cut on Dazai's forehead, deciding that it would probably need stitches.

He left the bandage covering his eye alone, for now, knowing it was a fresher wound that could quite possibly need to be checked out too.

Oda then removed the dressings around Dazai's abdomen and chest, and dressed the still unconscious teen in a pair of sweatpants, so large around the emaciated hips that he could hardily tighten it enough to fit, followed up by removing the bandages on Dazai's legs and thighs.

Before covering him comfortably back up, he slid a couple of thick, woolen socks onto Dazai's delicate, icy feet.

Dazai was getting more restless now, hopefully meaning that he would wake up soon. Oda leaned back into his chair and waited patiently.

After a couple of minutes, Dazai's one visible eye fluttered open, blinking tryingly a few times before staring aimlessly to the ceiling.

"How are you feeling?" Oda asked calmly, pleasantly. Dazai startled a little, sluggishly turning his head towards the sound.

It was a relieved, grateful smile that appeared on the teen's face when he saw who was seated by his bedside. He opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't get a single word out. Only a strangled croak that resulted in a small coughing fit.

"That's okay," Oda reassured him and lead a comforting hand to rest on Dazai's chest. "You swallowed a lot of water. I'll take you to the infirmary once you've rested a little. Wouldn't want you to develop pneumonia from water in your lungs."

Dazai only nodded and settled back to his half-conscious state.

"You have a head wound," Oda continued, making his voice sound apologetic. "I'm going to need to stitch it up. I would also like to take a look under the bandages around your head, making sure that the fall... or rather, the landing didn't do anything to aggravate the injury."

Dazai frowned lightly and wiggled his arm free from under the blanket to gesture something. Once his arm was outstretched and the sleeve fell back a little, exposing his bare flesh, he quickly retreated it with a distressed look on his face.

With knotted eyebrows, he looked quizzically towards Oda.

Oda ignored him, and started to rummage through his well-stacked first-aid kit, retrieving a sterilized needle and thread, as well as something to clean out the wound with.

Minimal amounts of sound came out of Dazai once Oda started the process of cleansing the wound and stitching it back up. Oda kept quiet too, concentrating on getting the seem as nice as possible.

Once finished, he packed his tools away and taped a thick piece of gauze over the newly closed wound.

"Seven perfect stitches. Probably nothing much compared to your apparent embroidery skills, but it will have to do," Oda joked dryly, smirking as he heard the hoarse chuckle he got as a response.

He swiftly removed the wrapping around his head and took a quick look at the black and blue, swollen-shut eye underneath, determining that it probably looked the same as it did before the untimely dive into the Yokohama river, and re-wrapped it in the bandages he had left from Dazai's neck.

While working, he couldn't help but noticing that Dazai seemed to have something on his mind. The kid was restless, fidgeting with his hands under the covers and opening and closing his mouth repeatedly to try and speak, but changed his mind every time. Finally, when Oda deemed himself done with what he could do for Dazai, he sat back, raising his eyebrows questionably towards the disheveled boy.

Dazai drew a long breath before trying to speak again.

"I'm..." Dazai cawed weakly, clearing his throat before forcing out the next word, "...sorry."

He lowered his gaze in shame, grimy looking away- scared of his friend's reaction to his own stupidity.

"That's okay," Oda answered sincerely. "I have a mission tonight anyway. Sleeping into the day will make it easier to keep myself awake during the tediousness of guarding a freaking painting at the museum all night."

Dazai seemed to pounder for a moment, wanting to say something more, but not really possessing the energy to try and drag out the words right now.

Determinedly, he cleared his throat again. "Th...ank you," he wheezed breathlessly, watching his friend serenely, waiting for a reaction.

_This kid was supposed to be his boss- estimated to take over as the leader of the entire Port Mafia once Mori stepped off his throne. And still, he looked like a forlorn child, waiting wearily to know if he'd get a slap across the face for inconveniencing an adult._

Oda forced a confident smile. He truly wished he could take on Dazai as one of his orphans. He technically could, with the kid still only being sixteen, and, as far as he knew, orphaned. How the hell else would an innocent child find himself in the claws of Mori at the tender age of fourteen?

But, he knew that it would never happen. Dazai would probably never catch a break like that. So instead, he just had to be there for him. As a friend, as... a mentor, possibly. As family.

"No worries, kid," Oda ruffled his hair playfully, his smile saddened by the exhaustion reading all over Dazai's body.

"Just let me know the next time you plan to jump off a bridge, okay? I'll bring my swimming trunks."


	9. Field-Medicine

**Whumptober 2019 #12: Field-Medicine - Bungou Stray Dogs**

**Summary:**  
**Dazai needs to treat his own injury while taking care of a young lost boy.**

**This is one of the optional alternatives in the prompt-list for Whumptober, replacing "don't move!"**

* * *

The thought _"why do I always find myself in situations like these?"_ had occurred to Osamu Dazai a number of times. Like, the time he had woken up, stranded on a deserted island without even remembering having boarded a ship, or the time he had locked himself out, on top of the roof of the Agency building in the middle of winter and being stuck there for hours without his coat.

It turned out that Kunikida had been well aware of where he was, but apparently had such a strong need of a break from him, that he honestly did not care if he stepped off the ledge and plummeted down from the roof to the sweet relief of his death or not.

Obviously, that had totally killed his desire to _do _just that.

Still, he kinda did. He summoned his inner Chuuya and climbed down two stories, just so he could knock on the office windows, smiling and waving as every face turned towards him paled sickly, and full panic had erupted.

It had been totally unnecessary and completely over the top. Sure, his fingers were freezing and he couldn't feel his toes- one wrong move and he would surely have fallen off. But, he felt like he had the situation mostly under control.

That wasn't necessarily exactly what was going on right now though, but he for sure felt the same way about it. He was stuck in a very unpleasant position without any obvious way of getting out of it.

They were out on a mission, looking for a young boy that had been missing for a couple of hours. The kid had gotten scared when he had realized that he had a special ability. Neither of his parents had any, and the boy had no experiences with that kind of power.

They weren't sure what kind of gift he possessed yet, only that it had almost resulted in their entire house burning down.

It had been an explosion, but luckily, no serious injuries or fatalities. The fire department had found a gas leak in the grand country house, but the boy was the only one who could answer what had actually triggered the eruption.

In other words, this child could potentially be very dangerous to himself and others if he wasn't found soon.

The search was what had led him into these woods. Dazai absolutely _hated_ the woods. There were mosquitos and horseflies, the air was humid and he had stepped in a puddle of mud, which he was about 85% sure _wasn't _bear excrements.

So now his feet were cold and he had several of itchy bites all over his arms and _who-knows-where-else._

Also, he was soaking wet after an undesired swim down the stream.

Oh, and then there was the bullet that was currently lodged inside his thigh.

It would seem like they quite possibly had another Atsushi on their hands, (his name even resembled the tiger boy's own name) because _someone_ was after this kid. Someone they didn't know yet, but dangerous enough to carry weapons and be out here with them in the middle of nowhere, looking for him.

Dazai had been separated from the rest of the group when the shooting had started. They didn't see anyone, but _they_ had clearly seen them. The shooting came from behind a thicket of bushes, and none of them had really felt the need to linger around to check it out once they were being fired at.

He had no idea where the rest of them were, but he could only hope that none of them had been fatally wounded.

When he first realized he had been shot, he hoped it was just a graze. Tumbling down a steep hill while trying to avoid the bullet rain that chased him didn't leave much room for stopping and assessing the injury.

Luckily, he had been able to crawl his way off the trail, painstakingly slowly and made his way through the grass, finding a small creek. He was unable to walk, so his best, or perhaps only option to get away, was to let himself flow down the stream for a little bit. He wasn't much of a swimmer, but he wasn't much of a walker right now either.

He plumped into the water and drifted down for about a hundred meters, where he spotted a large rock that was placed in a way that it looked like it might have a gap under where he could hide. Once he was back out of the water, he was able to crawl his way over to it and worm his way into the small space. It wasn't a good hiding spot, but it was the best he could do at the time.

His phone was obviously dead from the swim, which was so typical that he wasn't even able to be bothered by it.

Now that the adrenaline had started to wear off, the burning sensation in his thigh was making itself very well known.

His hands patted the underside of his thigh carefully, and it quickly became clear that the bullet hadn't gone all the way through, which would mean that it was still boarded inside his leg. That was not good. The bullet had also penetrated his flesh way too close to his femoral artery, which meant he had to remove the bullet _quickly_.

Wearily, he leaned his head back, resting it on the rock and cursed silently. It wouldn't be the first time he had to pry a bullet out of himself, but he had hoped that the time before this would have been the last.

_Oh well, better luck next time, _he scoffed unimpressed.

If he was going to get the bullet out on his own, he would need to make an emergency-tourniquet.

Making a proper tourniquet was impossible to do on oneself. If done correctly, it was humanly impossible not to faint from the excruciating agony one would feel.

That also meant that there was an increased chance that he would bleed out before he was able to get proper medical treatment-_ well, if he didn't nick the artery in the process of course_, which would without a doubt make his demise quick and very unpleasant.

Either one was not a desirable way to die-_ lying in the woods, being eaten on by maggots and flies and eventually having his face bitten off by some predatorial animal was not what he had in mind when planning his death._

He _really _hated those goddamn bears. And he would much rather bring his face with him into the afterlife.

Heaving for a deep breath and holding it, he twisted his injured leg a little, winching and biting his lip to not cry out in pain. Of course, it would be the same leg as he held his switchblade on.

He lifted his pant-leg and dragged the folded knife out from his sock, before settling back into a more bearable position. He unfolded it with a slight frown, before cutting a long piece off the bottom of his coat.

His blood-covered hands left splatters all over the highly beloved jacket, and each tear in the fabric tore a small piece off his soul.

With quivering hands, he inched the piece of textile under his thigh, a little above the wound and started binding the cloth around his leg. But, he had to pause mid-knot, because the brambles in front of him started rattling. The sound of footsteps came closer and closer, and Dazai tried to sharpen his senses and listen closely.

All he had to defend himself with, was the small folding knife, which would not hold up in a gunfight. The phrase,_ don't bring a knife to a gunfight,_ had never felt more fitting.

Out of any other options, he tried to get to his feet. As soon as he laid any weight on his damaged leg, it gave out under his weight and he was left dragging it behind while trying to get some distance between himself and whoever was heading his way.

Right behind the rock he'd been hiding under, he collapsed. Beams of agony fired through his entire leg and blinded him for a moment, long enough to make him lose his footing and topple to the ground. He pushed himself as closely to the cliff as he could and tried to stay hidden while peeping towards the bushes.

The first thing he noticed was a disheveled head of blonde hair and two chubby hands pushing the overgrown plants away before two large hazel orbs watched anxiously from side to side.

_It was the boy._

Just as Dazai recognized him, the kid startled abruptly, noticing the blood trail that Dazai had left behind. He backed away with staggering footsteps and was ready to run off.

Dazai threw himself from his hiding spot, hitting the ground and squirming a few feet to make himself visible.

_If he could only remember the kid's name._

"Wait," he screeched after him in an asphyxiated voice. His wound was _not _content with the harsh treatment and pulsated tortuously. His left hand clutched to it, hoping it would stifle the pain while his right hand reached out for the boy.

"Please," _goddammit, what was his name? _"Y... Ya- Yasushi? Yasushi Inoue, right? Please, I'm Osamu Dazai, I'm here to help."

The kid turned around, eyes glossy with unshed tears and he looked horrified at the bloodied man in front of him, still ready to jolt if Dazai gave him any reason to.

"I'm not going to hurt you, and you're not in any trouble," Dazai deliberated calmly, but couldn't get rid of the tension in his voice. Demonstratively, Dazai held his hands out, showing that he did not have any weapons. The knife was left behind the rock, so he couldn't have reached it if he tried.

"H-how do you know my name?" Yasushi asked in a shaky voice, fighting back the sobs that desperately wanted to escape from his chest.

"I'm from the Armed Detective Agency-" Dazai began but realized quickly how those words could sound triggering to a boy he was trying to convince that he was in fact _not _armed.

The blonde child was already getting ready to split as Dazai quickly tried to clarify.

"-b-but _not _actually _armed. _We have abilities, you know, just like you," Dazai explained desperately, catching Yasushi's attention again. Dazai swallowed down a cry of hurt before he was able to proceed.

"We've been hired by your family. They're really worried about you, and not angry. They just want you to come home safely."

Green eyes looked away, still unsure if he should split, or if he should trust this stranger, lying as a bloodied lump on the ground.

Dazai determined that the child was very smart to not trust him. He didn't look like the most reliable character at the moment.

"Also, I think you should stick with me. There's someone out there. I don't know who they are or what they want, but..." he eyed his leg and chuckled humourlessly, "...but I think we should stay together. I will help you to get back to your family, and, to be honest, I could probably need some help from you too."

A stout hand quickly brushed over the young boy's eyes, falling back to his side while he approached carefully, like a frightened animal. "W-what happened to you?"

Dazai wracked his brain for the right answer. He had never been good with kids, but he knew that he needed to keep _some _things from them. It would be unwise to blurt out that he had been shot by someone hunting for the kid when he needed him to be calm and level headed.

Still, there was no denying that he had a gunshot wound to his leg, and he still needed to dig the bullet out before they could move anywhere. This _"throwing himself around"_ buisness had been hazardous enough, and he only hoped that it had not made anything worse.

"If I tell you, will you promise me that you'll continue to be brave for me and not run off?" Dazai finally returned, peering intently at the boy who had slowly moved closer towards him now.

With a small frown, Yasushi subsequently nodded. Dazai mirrored his motion, taking a deep puff before he began to explain what was going on, keeping a close eye to the kid's reaction.

He didn't respond as Dazai had anticipated. Instead of looking alarmed or distressed, he simply looked guilty. His lower lip started to wobble somewhat, and he bit it tightly to prevent it from showing.

"It's going to be okay, Yasushi-kun," Dazai cooed. "We're going to to find my coworkers, and then, we'll get you home."

Yasushi lowered his head in shame and sniffled softly. "I burned it down," he muttered quietly.

Dazai could've kicked himself. He needed to be more careful about how he chose his words.

"Well actually, they were able to save most of it. Only the kitchen was destroyed from what I read in the report. But you're right, you won't return there tonight. We are going to reunite you with your parents though, and then you're probably going to spend a couple of nights in a nice hotel, or with extended family perhaps."

The child swallowed audibly and finally looked up. "Okay," he said hoarsely and bobbed his head. "Okay, I'll trust you."

"Great," Dazai beamed. "That's really great. But now, if you would be so kind, I need you to grab my switchblade from over there so I can dig this bullet out of my leg."

* * *

This kid was seemingly a bottomless pit of vomit. He hadn't even been able to assist Dazai in rotating the stick to help to tighten the tourniquet before he was out for the count.

That was certainly a little annoying.

Dazai turned to look for another small stick, luckily finding one close enough to reach without moving and placed it in his mouth and bit down on it hard.

There was no reason to put it off, any hesitation would only make it worse. He grabbed the twig sticking out from the knot in the cloth and turned it quickly, several times until the pain shot up his leg like a lightning bolt and he could feel his teeth quirk from the harsh bite on the branch in his mouth.

He let it go, letting go of the stick between his teeth and allowed his hands to fall to his sides while he strangled a growl and tried to breathe through the nauseating pain. A couple of choked coughs wracked their way through his body and he had to fight to stay conscious.

_Good, that meant it was good enough._

As long as he could stay conscious, it would be as good as it was going to get, especially since he was going to prod this bullet out all on his own. Glancing over at the kid, who had finally stopped dry-heaving, that seemed to be the most likely scenario.

"Hey kid, you okay?" Dazai asked weakly, still wheezing heavily. Beads of sweat were trailing down his face, burning lightly at the small cuts that scattered his face from that tumble down the hill earlier in the day.

"Y-yeah, sorry."

Yasushi sounded even worse than him, wiping his mouth and getting up from his stance at all fours into a seated position, while being careful not to catch a glance at the gore that was going on behind him.

"Good... This got a bit much for you, huh?"

The young boy only hummed his response, while nodding his head vigorously. Dazai imagined that what he really wanted to do was to shout something along the lines of _"fuck yes."_

"Well, uh, just so you know, I'm going to remove the bullet now... If you could talk to me while I do it, it would be of tremendous help," Dazai admitted.

He wasn't looking forward to this one bit, but it had to be done. It was getting dark, and he was starting to catch a chill from his wet clothes. Yasushi was not dressed for a night in the woods either, only wearing a t-shirt and shorts.

Also, where the hell was the rest of the agency? He hadn't drifted down that far.

"O-okay, I can do that," the boy agreed and pushed himself a little closer, still looking pointedly in a different direction.

"Thanks," Dazai replied, shifting his attention back to the wound. The knife was in his hand, and he started to cut open his pant leg. The bleeding had slowed, which had been the point of the tourniquet after all.

The hole in his thigh was almost black from old blood, while still spilling out fresh, brighter liquid. Dazai only wished he had gotten this done when the light was better, but now he needed to get a move on before it got even dimmer.

"I'm starting now," he announced and pinched around the wound to squeeze out the access blood that was just remaining inside the deep wound. He winched, but kept his hands steady and wiped it away.

"So," Dazai began, in a tight, tortured voice. "How about you tell me a little bit about your ability?"

"I- I don't want to," Yasushi denied. He sounded scared, which Dazai determined that he probably had every right to be. It was new, and yes, really scary.

"But, if you don't mind me asking," the kid continued, falteringly.

"No, not at all, please continue," Dazai pressed in agony, just as he let go of the pressure.

"When did you discover yours?"

Dazai closed his eyes and mentally prepared himself to put his finger inside the wound to feel around for where the bullet was stuck.

"I can honestly not remember," he said, slowly inserting his index finger. It was deep, and the bullet had probably hit the bone. A whispered few curses left his mouth as he carefully forced his way through muscle and tendons, breathing through the pain.

"Oh," Yasushi uttered in disappointment.

"But, I was presumably born with it. It's just always been in use, for as long as I've been conscious enough to know what was going on around me," Dazai resumed explaining, as he touched the tip of the bullet with his finger and bit his teeth together while he was retracting his hand.

Without taking the time to gather himself, he placed the tip of the knife to the wound and made a small, careful insition.

"Can I ask what your power is?" Yasushi asked shyly, knitting the edge of his t-shirt together as a defense mechanism.

"Yyyyes," Dazai wailed out in obvious pain, while he made the first step towards digging around in his thigh with the serrated knife. "I can nullify all abilities," he continued in a strangulated voice.

"Are you okay?" Yasushi asked fearfully, half-turning his head to check on him.

"D-don't look right now! Trust me," Dazai panted, implanting the knife further into his leg while twisting the point, searching for the bullet. "J-just keep talking."

"Of course, sure. Sorry. Uh." He desperately sought for anything to talk about, catching the aggravated grunts and moans coming from the older man seated behind him.

_Oh God, the only thing Dazai had asked of him was to continue talking to him. Why wasn't he even able to do that?_

"My ability shoots bullets," he suddenly called out, hastily covering his mouth as if it would somehow take back his dark secret.

"W-what?" Dazai uttered, stopping his prodding for just a second.

"I'm sorry," the boy begged, finally turning around. His hazel eyes were filled with tears now, and they were steadily gushing down his face. "I'm so, _so _sorry. I... it was me. I think... I heard you in the woods and I got scared. I sent the bullets at you."

Dazai looked at him quizzically, one hand holding the knife while the other clamped down around the bullet wound.

"Huh," he deadpanned and cocked his head. "That was certainly unexpected."

The boy had scooted all the way over now and was sobbing freely, masking his face with his hands and cradled himself back and forth.

Dazai wasn't sure what to do.

"Listen, Yasushi-kun, I need you to pull yourself together, just for a little bit. There's currently a knife, _inches _away from my femoral artery and it _hurts _and I kinda need to focus on that right now."

The child snorted a couple of times, nodding vigorously, rubbing his eyes raw.

"I can do that," he stammered weakly, slowly peering up into Dazai's dim eyes.

"Thank you," the ex-mafioso sighed and prepared to proceed.

Yasushi scooted over to sit beside Dazai, a little to the side as not to accidentally look at what the older man was doing.

Again, he had needed to think a little about something to say. His expression changed as he suddenly realized what Dazai had told him moments before.

"Dazai-san? You said you could cancel abilities, right?"

"Mhm," Dazai squawked. All Yasushi could see of what he was doing, was small movements in the slender man's shoulders, but his voice was pained and intense.

"Then why were you not able to cancel mine?"

"I have to," Dazai began but needed to quit talking to prevent himself from shrieking out as he reached the bone in his leg, and had to tilt the knife to catch the bullet.

"Ngh, I... I have to be in direct contact with... _oh, fuck, _with the individual," he wheezed painfully.

_It was so close now._

"I would have to touch you to stop it," he eventually managed.

"But, if... if I was unable to _control _my ability, if I was scared, w-would you be able to stop it if you tried?"

"Most likely," Dazai stated as he finally saw the bullet surfacing from the gaping gash in his limb.

With one last, possibly too rigid jerk, the bullet moved down his thigh and hit the ground. Utterly spent, Dazai dropped and skidded down against the rock with half-lidded eyes. The sweat ran uncontrollably down his face and his breathing was rough and raspy.

"I'm done," he said quietly, and Yasushi shifted around.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, frowning frightenedly at the pale heap next to him.

"I don't know, but I don't have a bullet in my leg anymore," Dazai murmured, bearly lucid.

"It's my fault that you're hurt," the child mused with tribulation.

"Stop that, it's not... you said it yourself, you can't control it."

"No, but you wouldn't be here if I hadn't run off, and you surely wouldn't have been shot. I destroy everything."

Dazai only wobbled his head. It was getting hard to stay awake.

"I have a friend..." Dazai started but quickly trailed off. The boy's green eyes were focusing expectedly at him, and he suddenly remembered what he was saying.

"I have a friend, that you remind me of. He couldn't control his... potentially dangerous ability either when I first met him. I think you two should talk."

Yasushi perked up, smiling for the first time since Dazai had met him. He was a cute kid when he wasn't bawling his eyes out.

"Atsushi," Dazai informed silently, smiling himself at the thought of how far the young prodigy had come since he first met the starved kid.

"What?"

"Atsushi," Dazai repeated, glancing back at the perplexed child.

"What is it?"

Dazai rolled his eyes tiredly. He could _not_ start with this.

"Never mind."

They sat together in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes. Dazai was freezing, and he could hear the kid's teeth begin to clatter too. If something didn't happen soon, he wasn't sure if he would be able to make it.

That's when it finally dawned upon him.

"God...dammit," he uttered, catching a glimpse of Yasushi as he blushed deeply from the _bad word._

"Yasushi-kun, if those bullets came from you... there isn't anything out there to be afraid of. The only people out there are my colleagues, and they are out here to help."

"What do you mean?"

"You should try to find them."

"B-but, you can't walk."

"That's why I'm not coming with you, kid."

Yasushi waved his head. "No, I'm not leaving you."

"Yeah, you are. Now, get going before it gets too dark."

"But, what if I'm not able to control my ability again?"

"Then you should aim at the tall blonde man with glasses."

Dazai gave the boy a pointed stare.

He fidgeted a bit, twirling his thumbs and clearly pondered about something.

"O-okay, fine. I'll get them. And then we're coming to get you, okay?"

Dazai gave him a tired smile, finally able to relax his body a little. He nodded faintly at Yasushi before the younger turned and started to walk away, sending worried glances towards the fatigued figure he was leaving behind.

For some time, Dazai was able to stay awake. He would prod lightly at his wound whenever he felt himself drifting off, giving himself a shot of pain to stay alert.

_Could bears smell blood? If so, they had a fiest waiting right there._

More time passed, and he still couldn't hear voices or see the shimmer of flashlights that might be out searching for them. But eventually, as much as he poked at the gash _(at some point wondering if he should push the bullet back in and start the process anew, just to stay awake), _he finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

* * *

For once, waking up again was a relief. He could hear faint sounds of familiar voices closing in from the distance. He honestly thought he had kept himself awake, but when he blinked, he abruptly gazed up at Yosano's apprehensive expression.

They were still out there, so at least he hadn't been out too long this time, but he couldn't see the kid.

"You did a good job at slowing the bleeding down," Yosano smiled reassuringly. Kunikida loomed behind her with a deep furrow on his forehead.

Dazai could feel his gaze getting more and more blurred, and he knew he didn't have much more time to make sure that Yasushi had found them before he would be out again.

"Yasushi," he urged in a rasped voice, looking quizzically at the peering eyes that were currently assessing his injuries.

"Atsushi's fine, he's back at the base," Kunikida answered dryly as he assisted Yosano with something.

_Not this again._

"N-no, _Ya_-sushi," Dazai tried to over-pronounciate, but all he got in response was Yosano's hand on his forehead, checking for a fever.

"Yeah, he's burning up. We need to get him to a hospital right away," she told Kunikida urgently.

_'No, not what I meant!'_ was what Dazai aspired to say, but he was unable to move his lips anymore. His brain was processing so slowly and sluggishly now that he didn't even realize that was blacking out again.

He could faintly sense himself being moved off the ground before everything went back to all darkness.

* * *

The white ceiling looked vaguely familiar, and the white dots flickering in his vision even more. His head was pounding and he felt generally awful all over.

Only when the sickening smell of antiseptics reached his nostrils, he understood that he had just woken in the hospital.

Damnit, he didn't really feel like waking up yet. Not to the miserable existence inside a hospital room. At least it didn't seem like anyone had realized he was awake yet, so he might as well just go back to...

"_Ya-sushi,_" he exclaimed suddenly, eyes widening in terror and suddenly completely alert. "Where is Yasushi?"

He tried his best to sit up, but for some infuriating reason, his body just wouldn't let him.

A head of unnaturally light hair came into his vision, dual-colored eyes looking worriedly down at him.

"For _fuck's _sake," Dazai cried out furiously before a second blonde head appeared beside the tiger-boy.

"Oh thank God," Dazai sighed as he recognized that glassy, hazel glare, and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Are you okay, Dazai-san?" Atsushi asked with an anxious pout, looking confusedly at the smaller boy next to him.

"As long as everyone calls you Nakajima as long as you two are in the room together, I'll be _just fine," _Dazai exasperated, slowly opening his eyes and smiling serenely at the two boys.

* * *

**So, I'm not going to pretend to be very familiar with Japanese authors, so I had to look for a name that could fit the original character in this story. I did a google search and found a book called The Hunting Gun, which I figured would make a good name for his ability. Then, I realized the whole name thing, and somehow it took over the whole story.**

**Also, might revisit to write a smoother ending. **


	10. Fever

**Summary:**  
**Dazai comes down with a fever after he ventures out by himself in the night.**

**I'm sorry that I disappeared for a while. I've had surgery and was stuck in the hospital for about a week. I always think that I'll be able to do all these things when I'm there- and at the end of the stay, I can hardly even remember where I've been for the past week or so, and if I've written something, it's usually just a sentence that I gave up on halfway through.**

**But, now I'm back, and hopefully, the short break can refuel some of my inspiration. I wrote half of this prompt two times before I started this. I just wasn't satisfied.**

**I said in the comments for Shaky Hands(#1), that it was an idea I might expand upon once I have the time. This is kind of a continuation of that story, which will likely be rewritten and made into a longer story at some point! I don't think you have to have read Shaky Hands to make sense of this- but it's good for context.**

**Sorry if there are any weird grammatical errors, I'm on medication.**

**I've replaced the prompt "adrenaline" with the alternative "fever".**

**Please enjoy!**

* * *

_Old habits die hard_, Dazai thought bitterly as his legs gave out from under him and he slumped unceremoniously to the ground against the brick wall behind a dumpster, in a back alley somewhere between bar Lupin and the agency dorms.

It was raining heavily, and the chill breeze nicked viciously at any part of his body that his tan coat didn't cover. His hair was draped thickly and soaked, stuck at his skin and obscuring his vision as he huddled up, his knees protectively against his chest.

He wasn't entirely sure where he was. He knew the streets of Yokohama like the back of his hand. Every hideout, every nook, and cranny of the less visible parts of the city. The pathways for those who lived their lives in the shadows.

But tonight, he had just fumbled around blindly, desperate on a mission to get as far away from his old hangout as possible. His hands and knees were shaking, his breath was catching in his chest while toxic thoughts swirled around in his mind a million miles per hour.

It had been a mistake going there. He knew that even before he went out tonight, but after last weeks events, all of the ghosts of his past that had come back to life- he just really needed the comfort and the familiarity of the warm lights inside the bar where he always had come to forget his troubles, with the two only people he had ever truly trusted, _who inevitably had made him unable to ever trust again._

Standing outside, he had come as far as to touch the round, brass doorknob. Like electricity sirring through his arm, he had to let go of the handle and step away from the door. The warm, soothing memories of drinking whiskey in dark clothes, with his bespectacled, traitorous friend on his left side and the man who was as close to an older brother as he'd ever had on his right, was clouded with the dim light from the large windows that shone upon them as he cradled the bloody form of Oda on the floor, begging for him to open his eyes back up.

Pleading for him not to leave him.

Anything that happened after he let go of the door nob, was just a blur. He faintly remembered stumbling over the small rise of the curb, making his way deeper into the underworld of Yokohama, ducking inside every back alley he came across to get away from the intruding gleam of the streetlights.

He had no idea how long he had kept running before his body shut down. His muscles refused to obey the commands his brain was sending to them, leaving him unable to get back to his feet.

Staying still, he focused on calming his breathing for a while. Burning lungs complained as he held his breath for ten seconds, slowly letting it back out and repeated. He kept doing this a couple of times before he felt his inhales getting less strangled and his exhales less hitched, and he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall behind him. The droplets felt soothing on his burning cheeks.

A heavy weariness embraced him like a warm blanket, and he felt like going to sleep.

Dazai had never been the one to deny himself the simpler pleasures in life, so, that's what he did.

* * *

The sun relentlessly made its way through closed eyelids, stirring Dazai back to life, if only for a short while.

Someone was there, but he couldn't bring himself to pry his eyes open to see who it was.

A deep cough wrestled its way through his throat as he felt himself getting huddled up over someone's shoulder and carried off, leaving the dumpster that had protected him from the harshest of yesterday's storm behind.

"Mm, thanks," he murmured weakly, waving at it, slightly dazed, and let his eyes fall shut once more, uncaring of where he was being taken.

* * *

"He was just sitting by the dumpster?"

A woman's voice breached through the darkness of uneasy sleep.

"Yeah, I found him when I went out with the trash this morning," a male voice replied. It sounded young.

_Then why didn't you throw me in with it?_

"And he hasn't been awake at all?"

Dazai understood that they were talking about him and didn't like it. He wanted to get up and ask them to leave-

"I don't think so."

_Leeeaaave._

"Well, I'm glad you called. I'll take a look at him."

_Go away._

"Thank you, Yosano-sensei."

_Noooo!_

The next fifteen minutes were spent being manhandled by the decisive doctor. Still unable to tear himself completely out of unconsciousness, Dazai was only able to grunt his dissatisfaction anytime he felt a cool instrument being pressed to his uncovered skin.

They had taken his clothes, he vaguely registered, fumbling feebly with one arm and started tugging at the blanket, only for it to be pulled away from him.

"It's fine, Dazai-san," Yosano's alto voice cooed, but not without a hint of suppressed irritation. "It's only the two of us."

That made him feel a little better. It had been impossible to hide all of him from her, she being their main medic, for nearly five years in the agency. But, even if no one else was there to see him, he still felt goosebumps covering his bare skin. Even if he technically felt the warm rays of the sun through his bedroom window, he was freezing.

Reluctantly, he let his hands fall back to resting at his sides, and let her prod and poke around until it seemed like she was satisfied that she had done everything she could for him.

"I'm going to get you some dry clothes now, and we'll get you bandaged up. They were all wet," she explained gently and left his side for a moment. When she returned, he felt a soft, linen shirt being pulled over his head, before his arms were eased into the sleeves. He thought maybe he tried to help her but wasn't quite sure if he had or not. She proceeded to cover the visible parts of his body that were usually bandaged, with new wrappings.

"Okay, Dazai-san, can you open your eyes for me?" she asked, settling back beside what he had now figured out was his own futon. That was good, at least.

Just bearly, he squinted his eyes. His eyelids felt swollen and heavy. They fell back shut several times before he gave up. He hummed his response, throat too sore and lips too sluggish to form the word "no".

"That's okay, I just need to know that I have your attention," she responded curtly. "You've got a pretty high fever, and I want to do some blood samples, to make sure it's nothing more serious. I'll be back to do that a little later."

She paused for a moment. When she continued, her voice seemed a bit more strained.

"You should know better than to fall asleep outside in the rain. The stairs to your dorm room are literally 10 meters from where Atsushi found you."

"Huh," Dazai managed to wheeze out before a coughing fit ravaged through his ribcage and he had to hurl himself to his side not to choke on his own mucus. His stomach squirmed miserably, and he felt like he had to throw up until a soothing hand started to draw circles on his back.

"Just breathe," Yosano directed, softer this time. Dazai tried to follow her instructions, breath hitching as he tried to gain control of it and quelch the coughs.

Yosano called for Atsushi, asking him to bring them a glass of water. The skittish teen obliged instantly, returning seconds later with a glass of lukewarm water which Dazai gulped down.

"Atsushi's going to stay here with you. I need to head into work for a few hours," she told him calmly as he emptied the glass. She took it from his lips and gave it back to Atsushi with instructions to refill it.

Dazai didn't answer, busy enjoying the relief the water had given his throat when something cold and wet touched his forehead. Immediately, he brushed it off, shrugging his head and scowling at the offending piece of fabric that had fallen down on his pillow.

Yosano gingerly picked it up and placed it back onto his head again, holding it in place until he glared up at her.

"Stay still," she enquired firmly, unable to hide the faint smirk that tugged at the corners of her mouth. Dazai whined weakly, dragging his blanket, obscuring the lower half of his face with arched eyebrows.

The young medic smiled warmly and ruffled the damp tusts of hair that peeked up from the woolen quilt. Dazai let out a soft groan in protest. She got up and left the room, waving her hand for Atsushi to come with her.

"Make sure to try and keep his fever down. Give him an aspirin when he wakes up and make sure he drinks plenty of water," she listed off. Atsushi scribbled down everything she said as fast as he could on a notepad left on the kitchen counter.

"Check his cupboards for something to make soup with. It's easy to keep down, and it will help to keep his fluid levels up. I'll be back as soon as I can check on him, but I want you to measure his temperature in about two hours. Call me if it has gone up, or if his conditions show any signs of getting worse."

Atsushi nodded while his pen worked furiously. This all seemed fairly logical, but anxiety tended to shroud the more reasonable solutions and make his mind blank. When he was satisfied he had gotten it all down, he lifted the pen from the paper and peeked back at her.

"I'll look out for him," he swore seriously as if his own life depended on it. A strange sense of protectiveness rose inside him, stronger than he had felt before, except _maybe _for Kouyou. Something, almost like _pride, _blossomed inside his chest, and he wanted to protect Dazai. Protect the man who had, no matter how weirdly he may have shown it, protected him.

Over the years, Atsushi had definitely seen Dazai in vulnerable positions but never had he experienced his mentor looking as defenseless as this. A part of Atsushi knew that he probably had been in this exact position plenty of times, but _never_ in front of him.

Because Dazai had this relentless, undefeatable aura around him that never wavered. His sheepish smile never faltered, and he always looked so reassuring. Whenever Atsushi was unsure and in doubt, he would look to his guide and be met with the dark eyes that never seemed to worry about anything.

The same eyes that were unable to open because of a disease that could strike anybody. And that was who Osamu Dazai was, after all. Just another man.

He wasn't some immortal, fantastical being that could overcome anything if he was broken to pieces by sickness just like any other person.

Somehow, it made Atsushi feel better.

Yosano closed the door quietly behind her as she left, and the light-haired teen shuffled awkwardly from the small kitchenette into the barren bedroom where his mentor was sleeping fitfully.

He placed the glass of water in an arm's distance from the futon and crouched down cross-legged by Dazai's side, on a pillow from the small Chabudai in the living room that Yosano had picked up earlier when she started Dazai's treatment.

Straightening his back and cracking his neck, he settled down for a long wait. He knew Yosano wouldn't expect him to watch Dazai for every second of the next couple of hours, but the feverish man in front of him had saved his life more than once, so he felt like it was the last thing he could do.

If he was honored with the task of looking after one of the greatest people he had ever known, he was going to do it right. To the best of his abilities _(the kinds that not even Dazai could nullify). _

And, he was a weretiger, after all. He had excellent senses. A nocturnal animal, with observant eyes, sharp claws and an impeccable nose for snuffing out danger.

That's why he was taken aback when he found himself startling awake by the sound of subdued mumbles, and something trashing lightly at his side.

Dual-colored eyes opened wide, and he looked around the room, only to find the afternoon sun, leaving long shadows at the sparse furniture inside the small bedroom.

Dazai slept restlessly, curled up tight and murmuring nonsensical words under his breath, fighting some invisible force inside his own head. Atsushi scrambled to his knees, holding Dazai's shoulders down and tried to ease him awake.

"Dazai-san, it's okay. It's just a dream," he whispered urgently, trying to shake the dazed man out of his nightmares. Dazai half-lidded his eyes, sleepy, narrow orbs, trying to make sense out of his surroundings.

"Atsushi," he smiled widely, tired eyes creaking with almost unnoticeable smile-wrinkles. "When did you get here?"

"I've been here all along, Dazai-san. I found you, remember?"

Dazai stilled for a moment, frowning as he tried to remember what had happened.

_Oh._

"Yes, yes of course," he croaked out, harked, and plastered his smile back on. Slowly, he tried to place his elbows under him to push away from the soft mattress. A firm hand was quickly placed to his chest, pushing him back down.

"Lay back down. You're sick, and Yosano-sensei said to stay in bed." The tiger boy tried to put some vigor into his words, but Dazai thought he only came off as adorable, like an offended two-year-old, waving a small, colorful plastic shovel in your face after accidentally stepping on his sandcastle.

Dazai chuckled and sat all the way up, rubbing his eyes vigorously and nodding his head from side to side, stretching his neck muscles. Logically, he knew he wasn't an old man yet, but spending the night propped up to a brick wall behind a dumpster hadn't been too kind to his body. He ached all over, but maybe it was mostly the fever.

"Dazai-san," Atsushi whined pleadingly, catching the older man's attention. "Please lay back down... You've been..."

Atsushi hesitated and took a deep, calming breath of air before he continued.

"We've all been worried about you. These past few weeks, you don't seem to have eaten, drank or slept. I haven't even seen you napping on the sofa at the office! You tense up whenever someone walks behind you, flinch if someone brushes past your shoulder... You can't even look me in the eyes."

Another pause, Atsushi fidgeted with his hands before he spoke his next words, soft and carefully, barely above a whisper.

"And you've been wearing thicker layers of bandages."

Dazai was taken a bit back by the teen's revelations. He knew all of the accusations were true- but he really must have been out of it these last couple of weeks if the rest of the agency had noticed.

"I..." he began but got interrupted by another coughing fit. The glass of water was quickly handed to him, and he drank it between deep, guttural hacks that made his chest cramp up.

As soon as he was unable to get more water down, Atsushi lowered him back onto the mattress and pulled the blanket all the way up to his neck. When the silver-haired boy settled back beside him, Dazai turned his head and looked at him with a drained expression.

Dark brown eyes peered intently at the boy, and Atsushi's own met his gaze, finally able to see the trepidation that waged a war inside his colleague. His friend. His _family._

"I'm sorry," Dazai eventually managed. "I'm sorry for worrying you. You don't deserve that."

Atsushi's expression went blank, and he opened his mouth to speak but, nothing came out. Dazai took it as a sign to keep going.

"There's too much to do right now, in the aftermath of the human trafficking case and everything. We don't have time for me to pull stunts like this. I couldn't help much with the case, and now I slow us down even more, wasting the company's time with being laid up like this, and taking away manpower with you and Yosano babysitting me..." Dazai scoffed bitterly and trailed off, staring lifelessly to the ceiling.

Atsushi noted that these didn't sound like Dazai's words. It sounded like a speech he recited after being given it repeatedly himself. A painful knot tied in his stomach, and he fought the urge to yell at the sick man for saying such nonsense.

Instead, he took the cloth that had fallen to the side of the bed and resoaked it in the small basin of now lukewarm water. He twisted it firmly before he patted small droplets of feverish sweat away from the pale face that still watched the ceiling tiles blindly.

His eyes twitched as the cold rag tappet at his forehead and cheek, and a small furrow appeared between two dark eyebrows, but the motion didn't waver.

"You know," Atsushi started. "I used to be afraid of taking up space."

A confused face met him, but he ignored it.

"I used to be afraid of taking up space, and be heard or seen. I wouldn't speak up, in fear of being an inconvenience. But then... I met a man, soaked to the bone, floating down the river. He bought me a meal, out of his friend's pocketbook, and then revealed to me that I was actually a weretiger, which admittedly, was a turn of events that I hadn't anticipated when I woke up under the bridge that day..." Atsushi reminiscent humorously.

Dazai smiled weakly, soft hums tickling his lips.

"Well, as a _weretiger, _you can't really help but take up a shit-load of space-" Atsushi gestured grandly with his arms, before slapping a hand across his mouth, mumbling a quiet appology for his language.

"...a-anyway, I realized, with your help, that... there's a place for me. There's _room _for me within the Agency, within Yokohama... withinthe_ world... _like, there's actually _room, you know? ..._I don't feel like a nuisance anymore, and that's all thanks to you. I wish you would remember that whenever you're feeling like some worthless _dog _that's only good for someone else's benefit. Only there for someone to hug when they're feeling happy, or kick when they're not."

Atsushi sighed wearily, resting his head in his hands.

"What I'm trying to say, Dazai... It's okay to need people. It's _okay _to not be okay."

The young man didn't wait for a response. He leaned over the bed, and crouched down beside his mentor, one arm worming its way under his shoulders and the other over his chest, with his head resting lightly on top of his arm.

The bodily contact was a strange sensation that Dazai couldn't remember the last time he felt, without it being followed up by some kind of pain. His body stiffened straight away, but Atsushi's grip on him didn't let go. His chest rose and fell with each steady breath against Dazai's shoulder, and he felt himself slowly relax into the touch.

Atsushi's words echoed inside his mind. _It's okay to not be okay. _Yeah, he could probably agree to that. For anyone but himself. He also understood how unreasonable that was to ask of himself, to _demand _of himself, but it had been imprinted into him from a very young age.

_And you can't learn an old dog new tricks._


	11. Waterlogged

**Whumptober 2019 #14: Waterlogged**

**Summary:**  
**Dazai tries to drown himself- Kunikida tries to not kill him for it.**

**I aaaam going to finish Whumptober, even if it isn't October anymore.**

**I'm always in an October state of mind.**

**I am a Scorpio, after all.**

**...also I can't remember which prompt I changed for this, but this is one of the alternative ones.**

* * *

As he let himself fall from the tall bridge over the ocean, it felt like he was just hanging there for several seconds. The only hint of him falling was how the wind built up around him and almost took his breath away.

Always first, came the sensation of weightlessness.

The chill air of autumn ruffled his unruly locks and made them fluttered freely, tickling his cheeks and shadowing his vision.

This feeling was so familiar to him now, that he didn't even feel the need to flail his arms and legs in fear as he fell- _floated- _on his back towards the water's edge.

_No "life passing before your eyes," no spontaneous conversion to religion and no panic. _

_Just a rather boring and accepting realization of what was about to happen._

It was not until his back hit the water's surface, that Dazai's expression morphed into anything even remotely implicative of giving a fuck.

The ice-cold water welcomed him, swallowing him down greedily as he slowly sank into the blackness of the dark abyss. The way life on the surface sounded muffled underwater filled him with fuzzy, warm anticipation.  
_  
Anticipation for death. _

He offered himself fully, letting the arms of Poseidon reach out- surrendering completely, letting himself be dragged down as air bubbles rushed past him towards the small, flickering lights above.

_The average person can hold their breath between 30 to 60 seconds. The breaking-point comes after 87 seconds- even if it's sort of a neurological optimism. One's instinct to __**not**__ breathe underwater is so strong, that it will overcome the agony of running out of air- no matter how desperate you might be as you feel like you're drowning- you won't break until you don't have any other choice._

_Not until your body is telling you that the lack of oxygen is killing you and breathing might __**not,**__so... **might as well inhale.**_

And that's what Dazai did. He knew the final breath would be the ticket he needed; the ticket to the mercy of a life beyond.

_Except-_

As his lungs filled with water, he felt something grip firmly around his wrist.

Just before unconsciousness called him in, he felt himself being rushed upwards. Someone was gripping his arm tightly, tearing him relentlessly away from his release.

The last thing he noticed before his world turned to obscurity, was the gleaming glow of the surface, coming closer, and closer, and closer.

* * *

Dazai heaved in a violent breath just as water spurted out from his lips, hurling himself to the side, feeling gravel and grass beneath his grasping hand, panting desperately.

Gutteral coughs ravaged through every inch of his body and his lungs stung fiercely from the lack of oxygen. There was also a dull ache to his ribs which he reasoned as the outcome from heart compressions-

_Which meant that he had _ _**almost** __ made it._

Behind him, he sensed someone; someone catching their breath. His _"savior"- goddamn, good samaritans, _who he ignored in favor of laying still, looking dully at the dirt beneath him and wondering if there was any way to roll back into the water without being noticed.

"What the _hell-" _the _someone_ behind him begun sharply- and Dazai frowned at the realization of who it was.

Not only was he going to get reprimanded for trying to kill himself again, he was also going to get shit for ruining this man's _'oh so holy'_ schedule.

"I saw a crab," Dazai interrupted idly. "I felt like a snack."

He tried to quelch a few coughs, but water still spilled from his mouth.

"Don't... even _try _that bullshit with me!" Kunikida growled, clearly forcing his own restraints, giving Dazai a light punch in the back.

Dazai only shrugged, curling tightly in on himself with a blank expression.

He didn't want to deal with this. Not now, after another failure. No wonder the Agency didn't take him seriously when he said he wanted to die.

Not that it mattered anyway. The whole point of committing suicide was to be in charge of his own fate. Death was inevitable, and up to this point in his life, far too many people had had his life in their hands.

_Death had been an everyday threat- an endless technique of domination used by whoever had their claws closest to his young, fragile form, late into his teens._

_This was **his **way of showing that he was **finally **his own master._

Something shifted behind him, tearing him away from his musings as Kunikida's tan khakis and brown shoes came into sight in front of his vision, which was still littered with black dots that almost resembled static on an old television screen.

Dazai's ears were ringing, and he felt strangely nauseous, but it didn't seem to distract him from the feeling of absolute defeat.

The soaked loafers squeaked as the pony-taled man crouched down beside him, grabbing a tight hold around his wrist.

Dazai flinched a little at the touch before he realized that his partner was checking his pulse.

So, he tried to relax, kind of hoping that the idealistic man wouldn't find any- that he actually was dead and just too slow to realize it- _too stupid to accept it._

He groaned softly as he felt the slow beating against the firm grasp, and closed his eyes while waiting for the minute to pass.

Kunikida frowned before he let go. "We should get you back to the agency and let Yosano have a look at you," he said gravely, getting ready to hose Dazai back up.

"No," Dazai croaked, giving no sign of letting the bespectacled man help him up.

"What?" Kunikida asked, holding his hand out and looking genuinely confused.

Dazai shook his head with careful movements. He had a headache. But that was not a good enough reason to go see a doctor, even if it was only in their own infirmary at the Agency.

"I'm not seeing Yosano," Dazai murmured expressionlessly.

"Of course you are, you almost drowned!"

Kunikida was growling now, appalled, trying his best to keep his voice from rising.

"She... Nobody needs to know," Dazai eventually said flatly, unable to tear his gaze away from the ground he rested on.

Automatically, Kunikida's face warped into a furious grimace and he took a deep breath, getting ready to heave out all or any knowledge he had about near-drowning experiences and how utterly _stupid _his bandage-wasting partner was to even suggest that... that...

But then, the tone of Dazai's voice registered in his mind, as well as the doleful expression on his face; the dark, half-lidded eyes absolutely refusing to meet his own.

_Why did he never seem to remember that Dazai was **actually **suicidal? That it wasn't some grand scheme to annoy them or get attention- to be a nuisance and cause disorder. _

_Dazai **hurt**. Dazai hurt really bad and he had once again failed to recognize it._

Discouraged, Kunikida sighed, sitting down slowly by Dazai's side, folding his hands, resting them on his knees while he looked at the setting sun on the horizon.

For a while, they didn't talk, not a single word. Dazai honestly preferred it that way and Kunikida had no idea what to say.

"...I'm sorry," he finally managed, downcasting his head in shame.

This time, it was Dazai's turn to be confused. He furrowed his eyebrows skeptically before he hoarsely asked, "What?"

"I said, I am sorry," Kunikida responded slowly. "I am sorry that I don't understand how you feel. That, I keep forgetting how hard all of this... actually is for you."

Dazai shifted in his spot, a bit too fatigued to actually get up. The blonde man noticed his efforts and leaned back a little to help him sit up.

Dazai's vision immediately swam in a sudden dizzy fit, making the nausea worse and he felt like he had to barf for a moment. He let his head fall down, his balance with it. Without meaning too, he sank to the side, abruptly resting wearily on Kunikida's shoulder.

He felt his senior jostle as he bumped into him, but he couldn't help it. His energy was drained, he had a hard time breathing and he couldn't keep his eyes open. The evening and its darkness were closing in on them and the wind sent chills down his spine as he realized that it was getting pretty cold.

He wasn't sure when his teeth had started to clatter.

Half-expecting for Kunikida to shrug him off, which would result in him collapsing back to where he had lied before, Dazai braced himself.

But- nothing happened.

Kunikida sat still, sturdy as a rock, even though Dazai could feel his skin getting cold from the soaked fabric of his clothes, just like him.

It made him feel bad.

"Okay," Dazai finally said roughly, his voice breaking halfway through the word.

He felt the shoulder he was resting his head on changing a little, assuming Kunikida had tilted his head to the side to look at him.

"Hm?" Kunikida hummed patiently, uncharacteristicly for the strict man, which only made Dazai feel even worse.

"We should get back to the Agency," was all Dazai managed to say, still resting his head on his partner's shoulder.

"Sure, that's... we..." Kunikda was searching desperately for the right words. He seemed nervous and unsure, again making Dazai's stomach churn angrily in regret and a guilty conscience.

Kunikida sighed finally.

"...We don't need to tell Yosano what happened. I'll say I pushed you, or... something," Kunikida shrugged, feeling Dazai shake lightly while croaking out hoarse chuckles at the fairly plausible explanation.

"Okay," Dazai whispered with a faint smile, moments away from sleep.

Kunikda shifted, getting up while simultaneously dragging his partner up with him, guiding his hand across his shoulders and steadying him as they began their slow ascent up towards Kunikida's car from the small bay.

Dazai was hardly able to move his feet, sluggish footsteps bearly able to move across the coarse sand. Kunikda walked slowly, patiently, carrying more than steading the man.

Finally on top of the steep hill, Kunikida helped Dazai into the passenger seat and buckled his belt for him, before closing the door and returning to the driver's seat.

He buckled his own belt before he turned the ignition.

"Kunikida..." Dazai breathed weakly, fumbling one soaked, bandaged hand for _something,_ finally locating it on the gear stick.

Kunikida's cold hand was pressed firmly by a different, freezing one.

Narrow eyes looked at the scarred grip on his own hand before he looked up and met a sickly pale, shuddering expression. Dazai was clearly fighting to stay awake, but his hold on his hand didn't falter for a second.

"What, what is it? Are you okay?" Kunikida asked urgently, stopping the car.

Dazai's expression warmed considerably as the corners of his mouth rose into a tired smile and his eyes once again rested shut.

Weakly, he nodded his head, letting it fall tiredly onto his own shoulder, while still keeping his hand where it was.

"I just... I just wanted to say thank you," Dazai said softly, lastly, letting his hand slide off the gear stick and back onto his lap, letting the current drift him far, far away into the far depths of unconsciousness.


	12. Trembling & Adrenaline

**Whumptober 2019 #15: Trembling/Adrenaline**

**Summary:**  
**Dazai is going to kill himself, and almost accidentally kills himself.**

**I am seriously out of ideas. As I start to write this, I still have no idea what is going to be written on this page once I'm done.**

**(And now that it's done, I'm still not sure what this is. This was just me writing without any purpose, having no idea where it would go. I think you can see a pretty clear shift in the story- yay hypomania!)**

**If anybody has any requests, something they want to see, just a small scenario somewhere in some story, please don't hesitate to leave it in a comment/message (depending on where you read this). I really need something to work off of, because I'm empty.**

**Something angsty, fluffy, funny, gory- whatever. I would like to keep writing Dazai-centric things for this, though.**

**Today's prompt was supposed to be 'scars'. I am going to write that- but I'm not able to right now. I'm going to pick it up later.**

**Instead, it's this mix between a prompt from the past and the future! (Even though they're both technically from the past since I'm behind af)**

**...Whumpvember!**

* * *

Some days, Dazai was able to take all he had lost with stride. It was in the past, a finished chapter that didn't need revisiting. There was nothing to do with it- what was written, was written.

Other days, days like today... that just wasn't an option.

Because these days, he felt haunted. As if the many ghosts from his past suddenly came up beside him and sucker-punched him in the gut, leaving him on the floor, heaving for air and trying to stagger back to his feet on his own.

Currently sitting on top of the tallest skyscraper in Yokohama, he let his feet dangle over the edge as he watched the city down there, moving on with their life without him.

They couldn't see him- didn't even know he existed up here. And he, he had no idea who they were.

Like ants, he imagined that he crushed them with the soles of his shoes, dipping them playfully in the air far above everyone, squishing them one by one- none ever the wiser.

He didn't care about these people. They didn't care about him. He hadn't even known that they existed until a few minutes ago. And they, wouldn't know that he ever existed at all before he plunged down, smashing onto the sidewalk in front of them like a watermelon.

Well, if he did. He wasn't sure anymore.

Sneaking up here, that had been the plan. But now, he wasn't sure if it would be the painless suicide that didn't inconvenience anyone that he wanted.

He had seen enough skulls crush to know that it was quite difficult to digest the first couple of times.

Filling his lungs with air and breathing it out slowly, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine a world where he wasn't used to seeing heads explode, while simultaneously realizing that he didn't want to be the reason another child woke up in panic, reliving the moment a stranger's body pulverized on the pavement in front of them for the rest of their life.

So, no. He wasn't going to jump. Not right now, at least. Maybe tomorrow, during school hours. There would be fewer children around to witness it then.

Except, the ADA had a mission tomorrow.

...phew, good thing he didn't die today, or else, his death would really be an inconvenience for everybody.

Especially Atsushi. It was the first mission where he had been given the lead- they were going to execute the tiger boy's game plan.

Dazai hummed humorously, thinking about the worry knitted between the kid's eyebrows, and the small drop of sweat trailing down his face when they got the mission and he was appointed to take the lead.

His strategy was... fine. It was no 'Shame and toad', or 'Footsteps of heat and haze', but it was... fine... totally fine.

...as long as he was there to do some patch-work, of course.

Dazai laid back, resting his head on his arms while looking up at the night sky. The clear, dark blue nothingness, filled with the small, pretty twinkling balls of luminous gas with nuclear fusion reactions in their cores.

...Also called stars.

Ten thousand year old lights shone above him, radiating from orbs that could live up to a billion years... and here, he was lying on the roof of a tall building, wanting to end his life after only twenty-two.

...mourning the life of people who were unable to live past much more than that. People who hadn't been ready to die. Good people. People he wished he could bring back.

He huffed out a bitter scoff, shifting and dragging his hands across his face wearily.

It was late, the wind was picking up and it was getting cold. His mind was going places it wasn't supposed to, so he should probably get back to the dorms.

Listlessly, he hosed himself up to a sitting position, retracting his feet from the edge and started to get up.

As he placed his weight on his heels, his left foot slipped on the ledge.

In a moment of confusion, he tilted slightly to the side, instinctively grabbing urgently for something to hold onto. The slight tilt of the roof didn't help at all. His inside contorted into a tight knot as he felt his back glide off the edge.

The world was moving in slow motion. He knew his only way to save himself from this all too ironic death would be if he somehow was able to grab onto the small edges of the rooftop.

What happened next only lasted for a couple of seconds, all though it felt like much longer.

Twisting his body slightly, he was able to grab onto the edge with his right arm, but the suddenly added burden of his body weight immediately jerked his shoulder out of its socket. A blinding, shooting pain traveled to the tips of his fingers that threatened to give out.

Dazai grit his teeth in agony and shut his eyes closed, forcing the hurt back with pure willpower, determined to get back up.

He kinda wished he had informed Atsushi about some of the holes in his plan- just... in case.

With the very last of his strength, he pushed his feet against the wall, using the momentum to fling his left arm up with no other option than having blind faith in his ability to catch a hold of anything.

A small sigh of relief forced its way through his body as he felt his hand touch the cool steel of the roof tiles. Scrambling his legs, trying his best not to slip, he was able to climb, painstakingly slowly, back up.

His heart was racing and he panted heavily, crawling a safe distance away from the slippery side, settling on his back while gripping his injured shoulder tightly.

His whole body was trembling from the rush of adrenaline, and he knew he had to get down from there and (reluctantly admitting to himself that he also had to) visit Yosano to help him set the shoulder back.

Usually when he tried to do it himself, he would screw up so many times that he eventually ended up passing out- Mori had dislocated his shoulder and made him try to set it back so many times (it was a good way of breaking out of handcuffs or tight ropes), that he was almost used to it by now.

He knew he would be able to do it eventually, but just the thought made him gravitate towards the edge again...

Carefully, he coerced himself up to a seated position, a bit impressed with the arm that was now hanging limply by its side, and that it had been able to hold his weight at all after the initial injury. Right now, he had no contact with it, which was usually how it went.

He had heard about things like this, when your body would go above and beyond to survive in near-death situations... Oh, how his body must have had betrayed him for all these years...

Before he could slip back to old habits, he turned and headed for the fire escape he had come up.

Climbing the caged ladder with only one arm was difficult, but manageable. For a while.

About half-way (why had he picked the tallest building in all of Yokohama?), the adrenaline was starting to wear off, and his shoulder began to throb violently. His left arm and legs were getting tired. But, he wasn't stopping. That would only result in his limbs stiffening, and that would only make it harder.

So, he kept descending the ladder at a steady pace, until finally, he stepped on the last step.

It was a 2,5 meters drop from the ladder to the ground. Dazai moaned in exasperation, and (finally) let himself fall.

He hit the pavement bellow with a small thud. Such an anti-climactic ending to his venture on the skyscraper- but at least there weren't any traumatized children around.

Scowling up at the ladder, he rubbed his back wearily and gathered himself at his feet, limping his way back towards the Agency.

* * *

"What in the world...?" Yosano uttered dumbfounded, as Dazai dragged himself into the Agency, only a little late. Her words caused a chain reaction. A mixture of perfectly groomed, or disheveled bed-haired heads peeked towards the entry, where Dazai stood, leaning heavily to the wall.

Honestly, Dazai had no idea that it was going to take that long to get back- or that it had been so late in the first place. He hadn't been able to get home for a shower or a change of clothes, before he had to be at work.

His coat was dirty, the knees of his pants ripped and his hair a mess. He looked suspiciously pale, and his breathing was labored like he was in great discomfort.

"Morning..." he mumbled hoarsely, grimacing at how small his voice sounded. It obviously didn't help with the seven pairs of eyes (eight pairs, if you counted Kunikida's glasses) that looked concerned at him.

Before he was able to try and explain himself, Yosano had a tight grip around his healthy arm, which admittedly was sore and stiff after the long climb, and dragged him off towards the infirmary.

* * *

An hour later, Dazai reappeared at the office with his arm in a sling. Yosano had taken a look at him as he got up from her table of horrors with a small giggle, telling him it was almost nice to see him back in his signature look.

High as a kite on pain killers, he decided that she was mean and didn't deserve an answer except for a tongue, childishly sticking out and blowing raspberries towards her.

"How are you doing, Dazai-san?" Atsushi asked worriedly. The group were all leaning over the same table, probably going over today's mission a final time.

Dazai set up a wide grin and strode over with featherlike steps, except for the occasional hobble as his backside made reminded him that asphalt didn't cushion your fall very well.

"I'm great," he beamed and shook the orange pill bottle he had received from the doctor. "Yosano-sensei is being generous with the funny-pills today."

"...Right," Kunikida answered with a frown, while Dazai wormed his way under Ranpo's arm, jiggling the bottle in front of his face and murmuring tauntingly, "And you can't have any of my candy either," -to which Ranpo pushed him gently away.

"So, what mess did you get yourself into this time?" Kunikida asked gravely, choosing to ignore his partner's foolishness.

The bandaged idiot jerked his head up quickly, watching the bespectacled man intently.

"Oh, I was just going to kill myself, but then, I almost died!" he exclaimed wide-eyed.

Stupified expressions glared at him for a long moment. Atsushi blinked repeatedly until Kunikida cleared his throat to get everyone's attention back to their work.

"So... We'll enter through exit C at the back- where Tanizaki will be waiting to let us in..."

Dazai made his way over to the blonde man and grabbed his shirt tightly, wide orbs glaring deeply into his eyes with a seriousness rarely seen in the slender man.

"Didn't you hear me? I was going to jump, and then I didn't, but then I slipped, and, and..."

Kunikida sighed deeply, calmly placing his hand on Dazai's tight grip, firmly prying his fingers open.

"Yes, we all heard you. You were going to kill yourself, and you almost made it. Now, you should go back to the dorms and sleep this... buzz off, so we can get ready..."

"What? No! I'm coming with you. And I wasn't going to kill myself- I mean, I was, but I wasn't, because I was coming here!" Dazai smiled, nodding vigorously, looking around the room for support.

Atsushi immediately averted his gaze, unable to look into the wide doe-eyes as the light in them eventually would go out, when he realized that they had reworked the whole plan around him not being included.

Apparently, Dazai couldn't find any support from any of the others either. His voice had quieted down considerably when he asked, one final time with just a small glimpse of hope still left in it, "Right?"

"I'm sorry, Dazai-san," Atsushi said, reluctantly peeking back up at him, as he stood dejectedly in front of Kunikida.

"B-but, no! I was... I was gonna jump, I would have jumped... But I wanted to see my little orphan's debut as team leader!"

"Your little...?" Atsushi uttered, dumbfounded.

"Yeah, like... like Oda said," Dazai trailed off, lowering his gaze to the floor and shook his head lightly in his haze.

The spectators exchanged bewildered looks.

With a weary rise and fall of his shoulders, Atsushi breathed out tiredly and walked over to Dazai, who was mumbling something about 'footsteps of heat and haze', and placed a light arm across his elder's back and started to walk him towards the exit.

"Come, we should get you home," he explained and tried for a smile to tell him that it was all okay and nothing to worry about.

"B-but, the mission-" Dazai tried to argue feebly, but kept walking in the direction Atsushi was taking him anyway, trying to look back at the lowered gazes, refusing to look at him.

"Don't worry about it, we'll be fine for a couple of hours-"

"But-"

"-I can make you some food, we can play a game if you're up for it-"

"...What?" Dazai suddenly halted to a stop.

Atsushi stopped too, looking up at his mentor and smiling reassuringly.

"We're going to have to send Yosano if you can't go, and someone needs to look after you... My ability isn't necessary for this, it's fine."

"No..." Dazai proclaimed, lightly shocked. "No, this... this isn't how it's supposed to be. It's your big day, and... and I'm supposed to look after you, and instead, you're looking after me and it's all upside down!"

Atsushi chuckled nervously, patting Dazai's uninjured shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. I- I didn't jump last night because I wanted to be there with you on this mission. It's a big day, and... I ruined it... I messed everything up for you by being stupid and broken and..."

He shook his head bitterly, finally looking at the boy. "...and I don't deserve it. You're so pure and...good, and... I'm... not. I'm horrible."

Dazai's guilt-ridden and genuinely distraught look made the white-haired boy's heart twist painfully in his chest. He had no idea this meant so much to him. Had no idea he did.

Dazai was just this silly, carefree person at the Agency (albeit with a burning death-wish), who could come up with flawless tactics in the blink of an eye and was supposed to be unbreakable.

Somehow, he wondered if this was how normal children felt when they first realized that there was no Santa Claus.

"Stop that," Atsushi said finally. "Y-you... You already look after me. I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you. I would have starved, or the mafia would've sold me on the black market!"

He was getting some stealth to his voice now, and it looked like Dazai was listening, so he continued.

"You gave me a place to stay, a job. Literally the shirt on my back! You gave me a reason to live... A reason to fight... Sitting out one measly mission isn't going to cancel that out... You can't nullify everything," he closed with a small smirk.

Dazai chuckled a little too, taking in a deep breath and straightened his back, finding some encouragement in those words- that Atsushi wasn't mad at him, but it didn't mean that he hadn't screwed up royally.

"Fine," he sighed, letting Atsushi steady him lightly across the parking lot towards the dorms. He threw his working arm lazily over the younger's shoulder and ruffled his hair vigorously.

Atsushi easily leaned into the light-hearted show of affection, feeling a fuzzy warm feeling melting away the heavy ice that had overwhelmed his heart moments before.

Dazai kept his arm around Atsushi as they crossed the large space. It wasn't until they finally passed the small gate that gave them access to the dormitories, that he spoke again.

"So... death by black market, huh?"


	13. Scars

**This is part 2 of #7 Isolation.**

**#16 Scars**

"How can you do this to yourself?" Kunikida asked, deep in shock. Obviously, Dazai had been hiding something under his bandages. Self-mutilation had always been a distinct possibility, but not in his wildest dreams had Kunikida ever thought that it would be this bad. Nobody should be able to hurt themselves to this extent.

_It should not be humanly possible, but then again..._

A chill went down Kunkida's spine as he realized for the first time how the name of Dazai's ability actually seemed to fit the distraught man in front of him, in some sick, distorted kind of way.

Maybe the idea of being in possession of _no longer human_ was what fueled him, manipulating his body and mind into enduring these horrible actions which any sound mind should be unable to commit against oneself.

A faint shake of the head was the only response he could get out of the lethargic man and Kunikida decided to let it be for now.

If he pushed him too hard, it would only end in disaster. Even if Dazai always seemed to worm his way back to life, into the same annoyingly carefree and chipper 'bandage-wasting-suicidal-maniac' _(which somehow had become a term of endearment around the agency) _he usually was- this situation right here, right now, felt _different._

It was _real _and _right in front of him _and _uncensored _and _absolutely heart-wrenching._

So Kunikida kept quiet and continued cleaning out the wounds, using strips or stitching them together before covering them with excessive amounts of gauze while his thoughts were spiraling out of control about the days leading up to this...

...which had been utterly uneventful. Nothing to warn them of what was to come at all.

They had been just like any other days, weeks or months, with Dazai doing slightly dangerous things around the office, declaring them as possible suicide methods while wearing a huge grin on his face. Or, shamelessly getting down on his knees in front of any woman in his proximity that he deemed worthy, _begging_ them to commit double suicide with him.

Teasing, _agonizing_ Kunikida to no end, abrupting his thoroughly planned out schedule _just _to get a reaction- which Kunikida _always _would give him.

Pretending that Ranpo wasn't fiercely competitive towards him- letting the abilityless _(and just a bit clueless)_, but never the less _genius, _detective solve several puzzles Dazai himself likely had been able to figure out the second he had laid his eyes on them.

_And the way Dazai was huddled up in the corner of the room like a ferocious animal when Kunikida had come in..._

"Who did you think I was?" Kunikida finally asked carefully. Dazai bearly stirred.

"Hm?" Dazai hummed, still a long way from his bathroom in his mind. But, he finally seemed to be waking up from the hypnotic daze he had been trapped inside.

"When I came in... You seemed to think I was someone else."

"Oh."

Dazai was weary and pale, probably from blood loss and sleeplessness. Kunikida had just begun to sew shut yet another gash on his arm, but the stinging, throbbing sensations that radiated from the self-inflicted wounds exceded far beyond Kunikida's precise stitches.

"I- I'm not sure," Dazai answered sincerely, winching a little as Kunikida tied the first stitch at the next laceration.

"Sorry," Kunikida muttered quietly, but Dazai only waved it off as not a big deal.

"I think I was somewhere else, in my mind, I mean," Dazai explained before he scoffed drearily. "When you let yourself in, I was looking for a weapon I haven't borne in 5 years."

At that, Kunikida raised an interested eyebrow, but continued his work meticulously all the while, hoping that his cryptic partner might continue this rarety of opening up if he didn't interfere too much.

Of course, Dazai didn't, which wasn't too surprising considering that he was the same man who had managed to keep his past position as one of the most powerful _(not to mention dangerous)_ people of the Japanese underworld a secret for _years. _A position he had reached when he was still just a teenager.

How this suicidal, manically depressed _goofball _could manage such a thing, was something Kunikida would never be able to truly comprehend. It was likely something _none_ of them would ever understand- they would never know how a scrawny child with a death wish had ended up as an executive in one of the most feared gangs in the world.

The only person in possession of those answers was currently seated on a toilet seat in front of him, bleeding from countless lacerations reaching from his throat to the soles of his feet.

So, Kunikida decided that he couldn't pounder on that part of Dazai's past anymore. It was simply too bizarre, and even if Dazai clearly was very haunted, maybe focusing on who Dazai was now-_ not who he used to be_, could somehow pull him out of this self-destructive apathy.

_Or maybe it's not Kunikida who needs to stop thinking of Dazai as a monster._

Kunikida cleared his throat, catching Dazai's glassy eyes that had previously stared blindly into his lap.

"Dazai, I know I might be the last person you'd want to hear something like this from, but I'm going to say it anyway... You _have_ to stop blaming yourself for... whatever it is that's tearing you apart. You need to _stop_ living in the past and start looking forward to the future... The past is clearly eating you alive, but the future just might save you."

Dazai only looked at him. For a long time, while a small, pained smile slowly tugged at the corner of his mouth. Dejected, he let his hair fall in front of his eyes, and something in his expression shifted.

"Of course, Kunikida-kun... I have to stop dwelling on the past and focus on the future. It all makes sense now," he murmured in an eery whisper, bitterness, and animosity dripping off his tongue like blood from a blade.

_Like the blood, dripping from Dazai's hands, arms, legs, feet, torso, hips, chest, neck... Kunikida was clearly over his head in gaping wounds._

"Dazai..." Kunikida started to say, but Dazai jerked his head back up. Exhausted yet fiercely focused, half-lidded eyes peered holes through Kunikida, almost startling the usually stoic man out of his kneeled stance in front of him, needle still between two pieces of flesh, ready to tie it back together.

"No, you're absolutely_ right. _If I just stop _thinking _about it, it will all _go away. _I will win back my will to live. This _aching, gnawing, harrowing emptiness_ that makes me utterly unable to feel a_ single thing _except for unbearable guilt, will just disappear! The loved ones of those I've tortured and killed will finally be at peace! It won't matter that I've orphaned _countless _children and simultaneously been the _sole reason that the only man that could've saved them was killed-" _his voice broke off in an abrupt, pained choke.

Trying to brace himself, he inhaled a sharp shuddering breath. Carefully exhaling, everything shattered again and he was left heaving on the toilet seat, somewhere in between a sob and hyper-ventilating.

"Shit, Dazai... I didn't mean..." Kunikida quickly finished the stitch he had been working on and cut the thread. He backed up, giving the struggling man some space.

"...do you really want to know why I do this to myself?" Dazai asked venomously, crouched down on himself in a way that Kunikida couldn't decide reminiscent a hug or a straight-jacket.

"It's my punishment. These are all my sins. No matter how many scars that litter my body, it will never be enough..."

His voice was shaking, fragile and small, struggling to bear.

"I can't keep count of them, just like I lost count of all the people I've hurt... how many families I've destroyed... So, I wear these scars on my sleeves as a constant reminder of what I've done, and it will never be enough... Not until it kills me."

Kunikida wanted to say something, _anything._

...but what was there to say, really? Kunikida knew a thing or two about regret, that much was true. Still, what Dazai had done... What good was a regretful sinner to anyone? Or a _dead sinner_, for argument's sake...

It wouldn't change the past. It wouldn't change his wrongdoings.

"At least, you're helping people now, Dazai. It won't cancel all the other things out, but it does count for _something._"

"...do you know what the worst part is, Kunikida?" Dazai asked, seemingly ignoring the blonde's attempt of encouragement.

"...the worst part is, that... even if what you say is true..."

He was unable to finish that sentence the way he intended.

Again, Dazai choked on his words. He cleared his throat, fighting back tears _(because he didn't deserve to cry- didn't deserve to grieve or morn or feel fucking sorry for himself-) _before he was able to force out in a pained whisper, "...it won't bring him back."

Kunikida had come closer now, leaning down with his hands hovering insecurely over Dazai's battered body, wanting, but lacking the courage to place the comforting touch he so wanted to set on his partner's shoulder.

Suddenly, Dazai yanked his head back up. His expression was tight, and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. His irises seemed to wobble from unshed tears as he grabbed onto the taller man's shirt.

At the blink of an eye, literally, Dazai's body betrayed him. One tear fell, two tears fell, and finally, the flood gates opened.

Kunikida stared horrified, paralyzed by the rare sight. _Dazai was showing real, unfiltered emotions._

Quickly, the idealist shook himself out of his stupified immobilization and pulled the trembling man in, locking his arms around him tightly.

Dazai cried silently. The only sound coming from him was an occasional shuddering heave for air, and Kunikida only tightened his grip around him, whispering repeatedly in his ear that it was okay.

Kunikida came around his car to help Dazai out. He had reluctantly agreed to use the crutches that Kunikida had found inside the closet in Dazai's bedroom, to ease the pressure on his newly stitched feet. It had been the strict condition for driving him out here instead of to the infirmary.

Dazai stood, heavily leaned on them and peered over the graveyard he had lead them to. Kunikida stood beside him, trying to follow his gaze, which guided him towards an old, weeping willow. Its branches leaned tiredly over a sole gravestone at the absolute edge of the site, with a beautiful outlook over the ocean.

Dazai started to hobble his way towards the tree, the snow dancing around him like angles in an ethereal snowball fight before Kunikida was able to shake himself out of his musings and hurried to catch up to his partner.

"Wait up," he said, raising his voice slightly before catching up to him. Dazai really didn't need to slow down- the trail was icy and Dazai was clearly struggling to make his way, with the crutches slipping off the path now and then- leaving him looking unstable and clumsy.

But, he didn't look back. He soldiered forward, aimed intently at the modest gravestone under the beautiful tree.

Once there, Dazai let himself crumble to the ground in front of it, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a lighter. Using his bare hands, he dug out a small lantern from under the snow, and re-lit the light inside of it.

It immediately illuminated their surroundings, giving their evocative spot in the dim graveyard a serene, celestial glow.

Kunikida curiously leaned over to read the writing on the stone. It said _Oda Sakunosuke- born October 26th__, died January 10th..._

_...oh._

Reading further, the engraving read in beautiful cursive, _"Be on the side that saves people. If both sides are the same, become a good man. Save the weak, and protect the orphans."_

Suddenly, he understood the significance this man had had on Dazai's life.

"It was his last words," Dazai said calmly, apparently noticing Kunikida reading. "He is the reason I left the Port Mafia, to spend my life in the light."

Kunikida nodded, captivated by the moment.

"You truly cared about this man, didn't you?" Kunikida stated severely. Dazai gave him a curt nod and concentrated his attention back to the tomb.

"He was a good man," Dazai confirmed solemnly.

"I'm sure."

"He..." Dazai started to say, but cut himself off.

Kunikida kept standing behind, watching the wind tearing at his partner's clothes, ruffling his hair in the frigid winter-breeze.

"...yes," Dazai finally continued. "He was... He was too good for this world."

The snow shifted behind him. Kunikida lowered into the snow by Dazai's side.

Together, they sat there in comfortable silence, quietly honoring the man's life on the anniversary of his death.

The air was chilly, and Kunikida felt the snow soaking through his trousers, but he was going to keep sitting there for as long as Dazai needed.

After some time, Dazai reached into his pocket and took out a small flask. He opened it, muttering a quiet "Kenpai'," and poured out a small amount onto his friend's grave, before bringing it to his own lips, taking a sip. He passed it along to Kunikida- who was driving, but still accepted it. "Kenpai," Kunikida repeated with a nod, gesturing towards the grave in a small toast.

The whiskey burned on its way down his throat, warming him up a little.

After their drink, Dazai was finally starting to get up, and Kunikida hurried to his feet to help him out. He handed the crutches over to him and turned to leave.

Dazai stayed back for a moment, smiling faintly at his friends final resting place.

"See you soon, Odasaku," he murmured silently, bowing his head in respect before following Kunikida's lead.

Kunikida didn't want to think about what he might have meant by that.

Calmly, they walked back towards the car, side by side. Dazai still struggled a bit but was keeping Kunikida's pace never the less.

"Thank you," Kunikida uttered suddenly, and stopped. Confused, Dazai tilted his head and peered back at him.

"For what?"

"For showing me this. I really appreciate it. I know it's... sacred."

Dazai lowered his gaze for a moment, before a sad sort of smile appeared on his lips.

"Oda deserves for people to know what a great man he was. I should be better about that, huh?"

Kunikida shrugged. "Maybe so, but I think an even better way to honor his memory, is to stop disappearing for days and hurting yourself. I didn't know Sakunosaku-san, but if he's half the man you claim him to be, I'm sure he wouldn't want that for you."

Considering this for a moment, Dazai nodded his agreement as if it was a thought that had never occurred to him before.

"Yeah, you're probably right..."

"None of us do," Kunikida pressed on.

They had arrived back at the car now. Dazai got in, while Kunikida ushered the crutches in the back before getting into the driver's seat.

Longingly, Dazai stared out of the window as they pulled out from the parking lot in front of the graveyard, heading back towards the solitude and pressing atmosphere of the dormitories.

Somehow, Dazai dreaded it, afraid that his head would spiral back into that dark space. He already envisioned ripping open the countless amount of stitches one by one, fixating the pain from his inside to the outside of his body- letting crimson liquid escape, reminding him of the many screams of his defenseless victims as he stomped their heads onto the pavement and-

"_Don't."_

A hand was placed on top of his own, and he realized that he was subconsciously picking at his stitches over the bandages. Dazai blinked several times, surprised that he had let his mask slip.

Kunikida sighed audibly.

"I'm sorry," Dazai muttered, parting his hands.

"Don't apologize, just... Just don't do that."

Ashamed of himself, embarrassed about his slip-up, Dazai kept quiet for a long time. The silence in the car felt pressing and uncomfortable- and Kunikida racked his brain for something to say. He didn't want to leave Dazai alone with his thoughts for too long.

"...if you don't, I'll tape oven mitts to your hands, like a toddler with chickenpox."

Dazai snorted, willingly taking the bait.

"Actually, picking at your stitches softens the skin and makes it scar less," Dazai proclaimed matter of factly.

Kunikida side-glanced at his bandaged partner, for once, understanding where this was going-

"You should probably write that down," Dazai smirked knowingly, receiving a chuckle in response, and a light smack across the head.


	14. Humiliation

**Summary: A story about how Oda and Dazai might have met for the first time.**

**I don't even know, I don't remember when or which prompt I'm supposed to write. At this point, I try to write a story and find a prompt that applies when I'm done.**

**We keep the whumptober and whumpovember going into whumpcember!**

**Trigger warning: heavily implied/referenced child abuse.**

* * *

Everything is scary when you're seven years old in a grown-up world. When you've been taken away from everything you know- even if what you already knew wasn't that great in the first place- and pulled into a new reality where nothing seems familiar and everyone are strangers and really, _really_ mean.

Honestly, Dazai had always preferred the company of adults. Kids his age were stupid and boring. The adults at the group home were _vile_, but at least they weren't _boring_.

All though... He did wish there were _someone _his own age around here. At the home, the adults didn't speak to him as a _child, _because he didn't act like one. He didn't play, didn't need help with his homework and was already reading at a college level. Compared to the other children there, he really wasn't a kid at all.

But in this place, there was no one even remotely close to his age, and compared to everyone else around, he was just that- a kid. He looked like a seven-year-old child _(maybe even a bit younger after years of malnourishment), _so he was treated like one.

The physical abuse didn't bother him too much, that was neither worse nor better than at the facility where he used to live. There had been physical punishment in every foster and group home he had been in, so he had learned that it was the way it was supposed to be.

No, what really bothered him was that he was never the smartest, oldest or strongest person in the room anymore. It made him feel insignificant. If he couldn't contribute with his skills, what use even was he?

As useless as they had told him he was his entire life, he guessed.

Dazai let out a weary sigh as he sat on a bench, dangling his legs over perfectly groomed green grass in the backyard of the large mansion he had been taken to.

It was much nicer than the other houses he had been taken to. He didn't know how many it had been. They always moved him whenever he had gotten himself in trouble _(like telling the CPS too much or showing the cigarette burns on his arms or the marks from the belt on his back)._

But this wasn't like that. This wasn't another foster home, and the CPS would never know what was going on here. They probably didn't even know where he was- because if they did, they would already have been here, knocking down the door and asking him about what had happened to his leg and his arm and his eye and why he was bandaged all over.

Also, none of them actually knew where he was.

This wasn't another foster home, because, on the paper, he still lived in the previous place. He wouldn't be surprised if they hadn't even reported him missing as long as the paychecks still came in. Also, there was no one here who proclaimed themselves his "foster" mom or dad.

Really, it was just the creepy doctor who took him.

Ougai Mori was his name. He wasn't sure if he had tried to pick-pocket the right or the wrong pocket that day _(he was just so goddamn hungry), _but the owner of said pocket had instantly taken an interest in him.

Dazai knew he was an excellent pick-pocketer, but unfortunately, Mori had caught him quickly. Not because he had been uncareful (he never was, and throughout the years of having nothing, he had mastered the art), but because just as he stuck his hand inside the pocket on the white coat, the blonde girl that walked beside him instantly vanished...

He focused on his dangling legs, trying to curl the toes on his broken foot- unable to move them due to the swelling. He held a book in his lap, but he couldn't even read it. The elderly guy, Hirotsu, had given it to him while in the infirmary.

At first, Dazai had been happy. He had missed the company of books. They didn't belittle him, and they let him understand what they tried to tell him in his own way and never argued or told him he was _stupid _for thinking the way he did.

In the arts, his way of thinking was never _wrong._

Unfortunately, he had a hard time reading it. His eyesight on his left eye had always been a bit poor, and with the giant bandages covering his right one, it made it almost impossible. He would sit with his face only inches away from the text, squinting and trying to keep track with his finger and he still had trouble whenever he had finished reading one line and stared on a new one, reading the previous one again, or skipping one or two lines completely. He would lose focus and it all was just frustrating.

So now, it just laid in his lap, in a mix between comfort and taunt because as long as he could remember, books had been the only constant in his life and this was the first time he couldn't quite find solace in it.

And, after realizing that he couldn't read the book Hirotsu had brought him, he had started to feel impossibly lonely.

Nobody really talked to him, and when they did, they took on this _voice _that people tended to take on when they were talking to a _kid _or someone _utterly dense._

...and maybe he was, but not _that _dense.

Pointing his nose up into the sky, he took in the fresh autumn air, crisp, cold and almost serene in his dulled current existence. He was meeting up with Mori in a few hours, and he knew it would be the last time he would see this glazed over yonder in a while.

_Because a session with Mori meant training, and training meant injuries and injuries meant the infirmary and the infirmary meant... experiments._

_Experiments that left him nearly blind and unable to move and sometimes speak, hear or **feel**._

He hadn't quite figured out why this was happening to him yet, but he suspected that what they actually wanted was a _device (not a child) _that could cancel abilities.

It was reasonable, he supposed. It would be a huge advantage to have that sort of tool for any ability-based corporation- while having a kid onboard would be nothing but a nuisance. So if he was completely subdued and... broken... He'd be _perfect_.

Unfortunately, they had found out that his ability was utterly worthless when he was unconscious, and that he actually had to touch the ability-user for it to work. So, he had to keep on living. He had to be _there _for _everything _that happened. He guessed they had figured out that the purpose of all this torturesome treatment was to make him resistant to pain since he was useless in combat.

He wasn't sure if it was working or not, but he _hated _it.

_...still, there was the satisfaction of being _ _ **praised ** _ _when he did _ _ **good ** _ _and somehow it made up for all of it._

Picking up his sole crutch _(it was hard walking with just one but with his right arm in a sling it would be impossible to walk with two), _he started to make his way back towards the mansion, when he noticed someone standing with his back against the fence with his nose buried deep inside a book.

It piqued Dazai's interest because in the month he had stayed there, he had never seen anyone but the same old mafiosos that lingered around the infirmary or the training grounds.

The man looked young but a bit weathered. His mahogany-colored hair was disheveled, and it looked like he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. Dazai assumed him to be in his mid to early twenties at most.

Still, the wisdom of his face sang a much older song.

The adolescent boy stood and stared at the young man for a while until the man looked up from his book.

Dazai instantly shot his gaze down to the ground and started to shuffle his way towards the back door once again when the man spoke.

"Hey," he said and started to walk with long stride towards him.

Dazai straightened his back and mentally prepared himself for a whack across the face. As the man approached, he kept his eyes tightly shut and waited for impact for several seconds... but it never came.

Hesitantly, he opened his one visible eye and was met with the chest of the much taller male. Reluctantly, he raised his head to look at him, still expecting to be slapped hard enough to make his ears ring for hours.

...and still, it never happened.

Instead, the man smiled. Not the acidic sort of smile that Mori used to give him, and not the restrained and fake one that all his foster parents would serve whenever the CPS checked in.

This smile was one that he couldn't really remember _seeing _before. Which made him think that it _might just be real._

Dazai hobbled several steps back and for some reason, his breath caught in his throat.

"...my name is Sakunosuke Oda, but everyone calls me Oda, what's yours?" the man continued, without any sort of hesitation.

Dazai had to pause at that. He wasn't really _supposed _to use his real name anymore, but nobody ever asked for his name around here anyway. Nobody cared. The identity he was supposed to take on now was a dead man's, and for some reason, he liked the idea of that.

So he decided to bury his old name and christen this new one into existence once again.

"Dazai," he answered, voice unsteady from several days of disuse. He cleared his throat before he repeated, "My name is Osamu Dazai."

The man nodded ceremoniously but was unable to hide the tint of sadness that shone through his cerulean gaze.

"Well, I'm honored to meet you, Dazai-kun."

The tall man took his hand and shook it, and Dazai found himself treasuring the friendly gesture more than he thought he would.

Oda's handshake was firm, something that told him that, even if he did treat him as a kid his age, it was _real. _As if, somehow, this stranger actually was _(in his words) honored _to meet him.

But that... that was stupid. No adult was happy to greet a young and purposeless child. They could claim that they were, but it wouldn't be the _truth._

And this was why Oda Sakunosuke was confusing to Dazai. Dazai thought he could see through all the bullshit that adults would spew at him, but not this particuliair one. He wanted to _believe him, _but _believing _was _dangerous _and would only lead to hurt and heartache.

And he had decided that he wasn't doing that again.

"Are you okay?" Oda suddenly asked, once again taking Dazai off-guard.

_(Was that a trick question? Was it a trap, or did he _ _ **really ** _ _wish to know if he was okay or not?)_

Dazai only stared dumbly at him, clutching his book to his chest with a slinged arm and avoiding eye contact. Then, he remembered that he had been asked a question, so he nodded his head vigorously, almost in a panic for taking _too _long to answer.

"You sure?" Oda inquired. "You look pretty banged up. How'd you hurt yourself?"

Dazai chewed on his bottom lip and decided that a shrug of his shoulders would be a sufficient answer.

_ (...because all he had ever heard was the people who **used **to hurt him telling him that nobody would **care** because he was** meaningless** and he tended to agree with them). _

Oda scrunched his eyebrows at that but quickly went back to his friendly demeanor.

"I guess you can't keep track of everything, huh," he mumbled with a crooked smile before he noticed the book hidden behind the child's sling.

"What are you reading?" he asked with genuine interest, nodding towards the book tucked firmly at Dazai's chest.

Instinctively, Dazai clutched the book tighter and turned his body slightly away to protect it.

"That's okay, I'm not going to take it from you," Oda assured him calmly, holding his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

Dazai didn't seem to care and only scowled apprehensively at him.

The notion that the child in front of him displayed was similar to how his orphans acted when they first came to his house- holding a hand protectively around their meals, being fiercely protective of the few possessions that they had and being on high alert at all times, looking over their shoulder for anyone that might want to hurt them or take away their beloved treasures.

"Are your parents around?" Oda asked casually, disguising his suspiciousness while already knowing the answer.

Something sad glazed over the young boy's eye, but he quickly forced it away.

He shook his head.

"Other family, or a caretaker perhaps?"

This time, Dazai had to consider his answer.

Did he? He wasn't sure. No one around here "took care" of him the way he had gotten the impression that a caretaker was supposed to. But then again, neither had any of his foster parents.

"The book thief," Dazai said finally, the irony not getting lost on him.

Oda looked at him, not understanding, so Dazai gripped his book with weak fingers and lifted it a little from his chest (as far as he was able to before it _hurt)._

"The book... It's called, the book thief."

A small, amused frown appeared on Oda's face, looking at the worn, leather-bound book.

"That's... not really a children's book."

Again, Dazai shrugged. "I guess not..."

He lowered his gaze, before curiosity got the better of him, "...what were you reading?"

"...oh! Erh, it's... it's just a novel," Oda answered, pocketing the book. He reached his hand out, gesturing towards Dazai's book.

Dazai reluctantly let him take it from him and looked on with watchful eyes as Oda skimmed through the summary on the back.

"Do you like it?" Oda questioned in a warm murmur, looking back at the child, seeing that the boy was now watching intently at the ground and noting that he seemed wary of eye contact.

"I couldn't read it," Dazai muttered shamefully

"Well, it's not an easy read, so I guess that's-"

"No," Dazai groaned. "I can't _read _it. My eyes are all... screwed up and I can't see the text properly."

"Oh."

Dazai sighed heavily, adjusting his crutch as it had started to gnaw at his armpit. His healthy leg was getting tired too.

It didn't go unnoticed, and Oda couldn't help but feel great pity for the boy.

"Do you wanna sit down?" Oda asked. Dazai seemed to startle at the question, something in his eyes confused and a bit conflicted. The older redhead figured that Dazai wasn't used to his needs being attended to, which again was common for most kids that had lived most of their lives in bad homes. He decided he needed to re-think his approch because of this new (yet presumed) revelation.

"Let's sit down," he said instead, making sure that his voice sounded pleasant and calm. This time, Dazai nodded vaguely and turned towards the bench.

He left out a small yelp as the ground beneath his feet disappeared. Something grabbed ahold around his waist and lifted him up, placing him on a soft, indistinct surface. It took several seconds for the child to recognize it as a steady arm, and the beige in front of his face as the man who'd he been talking to's coat.

For some reason, they started to move _away_ from the bench he had previously been seated on, and not _towards _it, as he had anticipated.

That was the final straw...

...because _what_ was _happening?_

_What's going on? Where were they going? What were they going to do there? Did he do something bad? He didn't mean too! He thought this was okay! Was it all a test? Had he failed? What was his punishment going to be? He couldn't stand to be trapped in the darkness again (didn't like the dark room couldn't do it couldn't handle it too dark too cold t's was scary n'badbadbad) couldn't wouldn't **needed** to get away needed to run-)_

The child's grip around the tan coat tightened and he awaited anxiously for what was about to happen- for someone to slam him back onto the ground and stomp on him, or for a second hand to reach around his neck and start strangling him.

A weak whimper left him involuntarily, his eyes screwed shut and he started to squirm around restlessly.

"Oh, God. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," Oda apologised abruptly as Dazai tensed on his arm.

Confused, the bandaged child peeked wearily through his only visible eye, looking back into those kind grey eyes and wondering if he was supposed to trust them or not.

"Do you want me to put you down? It's getting cold, so I thought we should head inside. You seem to have a hard time walking, so I wanted to help you."

Deep brown eyes stared at him in disbelief (wanting to believe- just short of daring to), making Oda's stomach churn almost painfully.

That confirmed his inklings- the level of touch aversion this kid seemed to have, indicated that he had more than likely been exposed to a lot of abuse. He associated touch with pain and was seemingly terribly traumatized from it.

Dazai offered him the tiniest shake of the head in answer to his question, looking conflicted and a bit scared as he tried to relax back into his hold.

He wanted to, wanted it _so much, _but it was easier said than done.

For reasons Dazai couldn't quite explain, his skin felt itchy and almost burning-like by the added body heat from being pressed against another human, and he imagined thousands of ants crawling all over him, nicking at his skin and tearing his body apart piece by piece and he had to hold his breath so it wouldn't escape him completely.

The anthisipation for something _bad _to happen-for something _terrible _and _painful _and _humiliating _was getting _so_ _strong_ _now_, and all he wanted to do was to _escape _his body and leave the useless vessle behind and be somewhere else entirely.

The ridgedness of his body only worsened as a hand came up to pat his back.

He was already far too long gone to recognize it as any sort of comfort, so he started begging- begging, praying, _pleading _for _them_ to just _go away _and _ignore_ him so he could continue being invisible.

...just let him pull the covers over his head and sink back into the lumpy, old foam mattress and hold his breath _(notcryingnotcryingnotcrying) _and maybe, just _maybe- they'd **pass his bed tonight.**_

_But when had he ever been so lucky? They always whispered all these things in his ear. _

_Things like, that they knew he **wanted** it (not true not true **nottruenottruenottrue**) that it was his **own** fault and that he was **such** **a** **good** **boy** and **not to tell** and he was **pretty (don't tell)** and they'd make him feel good **(nottruenottruenottrue) **and he had lovely skin **(so he broke it to make them leave him alone but it didn't work didn't help nothing ever did) **and not allowed to **tell** don'ttelldon'ttelldon'ttell..._

* * *

A wave of cold water flushed over him, leaving small diamond drops of water all over his face. His eye flew open as a choked yelp reached its way through him with a sharp, audible intake of air. He stared up into two, squinted ruby eyes and a thin impenetrable smile.

"What's wrong with you?" Mori asked, almost humorously, with Elise peeking out from behind his back _(oh how he wanted to reach out and poke at Mori, making that smug little brat disappear)._

Even if Dazai could have thought up an answer, he couldn't steady his breathing enough to speak. He only kept heaving for air, trying to ground himself, like his new _caregiver (nottruenottrue) _had thought him whenever he had one of his _episodes_.

His one free palm laid spread out on the ground, feeling the chill stone there and he tried to breathe in through his nose and out of his mouth, still hitching a bit but kept on doing it until he could feel his body getting heavier, little by little until his mind couldn't fly away with it anymore.

"So?" Mori probed, expression unchanging as he moved away, giving Dazai space to sit back up.

"M'sorry," Dazai whispered wistfully. He felt ashamed and embarrassed about being like this again. Mori had already told him to stop it a million times, but he just kept spacing out like this.

And what was worse, he had done it in front of...

_Where was Oda?_

_...of course, he was gone._

Who in their right mind would keep hanging around a broken boy like him? He was deplorable. Good for nothing and _always in the way and useless and vile and stupid and why don't you just die you waste of space dirty disgusting idiot n'bad (**badbadbad)**..._

"...he suddenly just froze..."

_...no wonder nobody wants to keep you you're disgusting..._

"...never seen something quite as bad as this..."

_...you're not even worth the ground you walk upon..._

"...extensive therapy and time..."

_...your parents probably died just to get away from you..._

"...he needs professional help- wait... Dazai?"

_...I know you enjoy it...**no**_...

"Hey, stay with me."

_ **...please don't** _ **...**

"Kid, come on, you're okay."

_ ...no, nonono, don't, please don't, please don't, please... _

_"Don't!"_

Before anyone could react, a petite, closed fist swung through the air.

The entire weight of the small, underweight child was leaned into it, and Dazai hurled himself from the ground, simultaneously punching at the predator standing over him.

Except, it wasn't whoever he thought it was.

His fist made an impact with _someone_. A jaw with a five o'clock shadow, bearly even tilting to the side from the force of the underwhelming blow.

Truthfully, the stubbles probably made more of a mark on his fist than his fist had made with the jaw.

Nevertheless, the child was almost wailing by the time he realized who he had thrown a punch at.

Aubrun hair brushed over arched eyebrows and slightly clouded eyes as the man shook his head, more to get over the initial surprise than the blow to his chin.

The offending hand, as well as the previously non-functioning broken hand, reached out and clenched onto the collar of Odasaku's duster in a death-grip, and the kid clung onto him while he bawled his eyes out into his shirt.

At first, Oda was unable to comprehend the words leaving the distraught child, but after gathering himself from the shock, he realized that the words Dazai was repeating endlessly into his chest, was "I'm sorry."

Only then, was Oda able to break out of his stupified state, and envelop the child in his arms in what was possibly the firmest embrace he had ever had.

Questioningly, the low-ranked mafioso peered up at Mori, who he had only moments before met for the first time in his life, randomly as he had entered the main building with the half-conscious boy on his arm.

The white-clad doctor rolled his eyes tiredly in response and waved him off, shrugging his shoulders before pocketing his hands, walking away and leaving the sobbing boy and the more than alarmed man to it, there on the floor.

For a long time, Dazai seemed inconsolable, and if it hadn't been for the talk Oda had had with Mori moments before, Odasaku would have left this place with the boy in his arms, taking him back to his make-shift orphanage.

But, apparently, Dazai _belonged _to the Port Mafia (he didn't _live_ there- probably was not _cared_ for there- he was simply their _belonging) _and Oda knew that hell would be raised for him and his family if the kid disappeared.

* * *

That evening, Oda made sure that Dazai was fed properly and tucked into bed before he left the mansion. He had even read almost half-way through '_The book thief,' _and had had, what was nothing less than a very fruitful discussion with the seven-year-old about the interactions between Ruby and Death in the last chapter they'd read.

Once more, he had to reassure Dazai that he wasn't angry with him and that he promised to come back and visit as soon as he could _(because he wanted to and not because he was obliged to)_.

* * *

This was a promise he wouldn't break until many years later- a promise that made the child at ease, as well as himself.

No matter how many children he took in after that day, it was never truly enough to fill the hole in his heart that guilt had burnt into it for not being able to take Dazai in all those years ago.

Because it wasn't the last time that Dazai had a flashback in front of him, and it wasn't the last time he would witness the aftermath of the horrid abuse that Dazai had already been through, and kept being submitted to.

It wasn't the last time he would have to hold the child tightly and remind him that he was worth the sun that would shine upon him at daytime and not only the moonlight casting shadows at night.

But, once inside the Port Mafia's claws, there was no way out. He had known that the day he had enlisted, and was ready to face the consequences and do what he had to do to keep his family safe.

...Dazai had never had that opportunity, to choose to be a part of the Port Mafia or not, and once their leader was dead, Dazai was already too engrossed. Oda didn't even offer to try and help him escape, because he knew that even as innocent and upbeat the kid might seem, he had been molded through the darkness.

A darkness that had been there from long before Mori had found him, but with Mori's help, had sprouted and grown into something deep-rooted in the boy's foundation.

The only thing Oda could do at this point was to continue to try and guide him, so he wouldn't get too astray.

And then, on his final day on earth, Oda knew that his words of wisdom finally, _truly_, reached the boy he had spent the best years of his life trying to guide.

Everything else was gone, and there was no one else left to continue his own life's mission. No one but the child- _the man- _who had been his biggest stint- was the sole survivor and the only one left to carry out his legacy.

He didn't need to stay in his earthly form to know that Dazai would take the task to heart- didn't need to personally be there to make sure that the job was done properly.

He did no longer need to linger around to finish his novel.

Oda Sakunosuke was at peace.


	15. Asphyxiation

**Whumptober 2019 #18: Asphyxiation- Bungou Stray Dogs**

**Summary: Dazai has been missing for six months. The Agency is not giving up on him.**

**I had to take some time off to update some of my other fics- I hope you understand.**

* * *

The red light of the black camera indicated that it once again was rolling.

Another jolt of shooting pain seared through Dazai's body. Between clenched teeth, he stifled a muffed cry of agony while twitching viciously in his seat. His head shot up, slamming into the back of the chair he was tied to, while his body shook violently out of his control.

The zap cane was removed from his stomach, and Dazai heaved for a breath of air with a mixture of saliva and blood spilling out between his lips. He had bit his tongue again, tearing open the bearly closed wounds he had suffered from the day before _ (and the day before that, and the day before that, and the day before that). _

"Let's try this again today," the large man said in a dangerously calm tone. He looked to be in his mid to late fifties and was towering over Dazai's half-conscious form, wide and tall. The two other men in the room were armed with the electric prods and would shock him each time the larger man nodded his head towards them or gave them a hand gesture that indicated that he was getting sick of Dazai's lack of cooperation. The two younger men took a couple of steps back, making room for the big man to lean in close to Dazai's ear.

With heavily accented Japanese, the man asked again; the same question he asked Dazai endlessly, every single day for as long as he'd been there.

"Are you ready to confess?"

At first, Dazai kept quiet, just like he did every day; forcing his lips tightly shut and refusing to meet the ice-cold stare of the man he assumed was the leader of this group of imbeciles. He turned his head demonstratively to the side, not even wanting to breathe the same air as him.

A hoarse smoker's laugh trembled through the elderly man, making his shoulders shake. Suddenly a large, firm hand had a tight grip around his jaw, forcing Dazai's head in the man's direction.

"I _said; _are you ready to _confess?" _

Dazai's only answer was to chuckle in amusement, before gathering a mouthful of blood, spitting it into the man's face.

The broad-shouldered man sneered, backing up and turning away, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

"I'll give you _one_ more chance," the man growled in a dangerous tone. "Look into the camera, and _admit_ to your crime. This will make this whole ordeal _ a lot less painful _for you. You were the one who killed Niko! You killed my beautiful baby-girl! Admit it!"

It was getting difficult for Dazai to keep his head steady on his shoulders, and his vision had doubled. The small window of sight he still had left in his right eye was completely gone at this point- hopefully, because of his eye being bruised shut and not because of any additional damage to his optic nerve.

Thick fingers grabbed a hold of his hair, yanking his head back forcefully, locking him in an uncomfortable position. It might have hurt if Dazai hadn't been dragged after Chuuya in more or less the exact same way for two years staight while still in the Port Mafia. But, being held directly into the path of this guy's foul breath was enough to make it seem tempting to break.

Then again, if against all odds, he would survive this screwed up situation, and the damage was already done... he didn't have anything left to lose and he might as well have some fun along the way.

Dazai gave the man a broad grin, teeth shining mockingly with red lines of crimson running between them.

"Fine, fine..." he wheezed, a bit more pathetic than he had anticipated. "I give up, it was me... I did it..."

Dazai took a deep, shuddering breath, before he continued ceremoniously, "...I, and I alone... let the dogs out."

Apparently, his captors didn't have a sense of humor, because the zap cane was quickly pushed against his neck. The buzzing sound of electricity was only heard for a short second before it drowned into a wave of blackness and his own strangled scream.

* * *

When Dazai woke back up, he was back in his cell; his small, cramped, cold purgatory. He had no idea how long he had been locked up in this place. There was no light, no set schedule for food or using the facilities. It seemed like it varied depending on which people were on guard- which also seemed rather random. That left him with little to work with in terms of keeping track of time.

The stone flooring was cold, and his bare back was pressed up against the door. His legs hardly fit in the tiny cell when stretched out, but that wasn't why he was pressed to the door.

_No, that was because of the chain around his neck._

The thick iron was locked tightly around his throat, tight enough to hurt his vocal cords and add horribly painful friction to the black burns caused by the zap cane. It made his breaths go in and out in rapid, hungry hicks, and each time someone opened the door, he would be dragged along with it, cutting off his air supply and efficiently subduing and choking him.

But the pain wasn't even the worst part anymore. He wanted it gone- wanted it to _ stop _ wanted to _ die _ more than he had his entire life and _would_ end himself _(he didn't even care about a pain-free suicide anymore- didn't care about it being convenient just wanted it _done) as soon as he could... But they wouldn't let him.

At some point, he had tried. He had leaned forward, effectively cutting off his air supply for long enough to make him faint, while making sure he wouldn't fall unconscious in a way that made it loosen the chain enough to clear his airways. But it hadn't worked.

It was all because it was that damn camera. The only light in the cell, the only true constant that had been there _(except for the pain- the pain didn't go anywhere- because that came with the _**_light _**_the small red orb _**_looking tauntingly and laughing_**_-) _ since he had been brought to this place.

The fuckers revived him when he had managed to strangle himself with the chain, and on many other occasions too. So now... now he _knew. _

He knew that they wouldn't let him die. They wouldn't let him get out of the one crime that he _did not commit. _He was guilty of many horrendous things, but he would _never _admit to killing such a sweet innocent girl. In which case, he would rather die.

Still, he was sure if he somehow was able to hang himself, overdose, cut his wrists, shoot himself in the head while jumping off a cliff and set himself on fire at the same time, they would still find some way to bring him back to life.

It sounded surreal even to him, but he had finally, actually, given up on death.

A venomous voice in the back of his mind told him that he didn't deserve the release of death anyway. That after all he had done, he had this coming. Even if the tiny bit of sanity left in his mind tried to convince him that_ nobody (not even him) _ should even _fantasize _about doing something like this to another human being... That _ nobody (not even him) _deserved what was going on here...

That maybe... _ just maybe... _he wasn't the worst human to ever leave a print on the face of the earth after all.

Because whoever killed poor little Niko, definitely deserved that title.

...and he also questioned if maybe the lack of oxygen was _clearing _ his mind more than muddling it, and tried to imagine what Kunikida, or Chuuya for that matter, would say if they could hear him now.

"_Was a couple of weeks of torture all it took to get that into that shrimp-sized brain of yours? I wish I had known so I could have done it myself." _

...that seemed pretty accurate, he decided.

The silence inside his solitary was disrupted by a hoarse, broken chuckle. The sound of his broken voice sent chills down his spine.

His eyelids felt heavy now. He couldn't remember the last time he slept- unless being unconscious counted as sleep.

Dazai shifted, trying to rest on his side, but a sharp pain shot through his hip. It made him startle and he rolled back to his half-seated position against the door, leaning his head to the harsh, wooden surface. There was a burning behind his eyes. Not tears, more of a desperate call from his body to fall into slumber, to relax and maybe... give in.

_ No. _

_ If he did- they would frame him for the murder of Niko, but without his confession, they would never be able to. There was _ ** _ no _ ** _ evidence to point to simply because he _**_did not do it_. **

But he wanted to give up on all of this... _Kinda_. Not really, but... he was considering it. At least, his body was.

Just the thought made him slam his head into the door behind him, punishing himself for those ridiculous thoughts- because those kinds of thoughts were unacceptable. He hadn't endured years of Mori's vicious training to withstand torture to lose out to fatigue.

All of this made him feel like a child. Nothing more than the poor helpless kid he had once been, that the Port Mafia had beat, burned and whipped out of him.

...still, the feeling lingered, and he realized slowly, painfully, why it did.

This experience woke up a demon that had hibernated in the pit of his soul for fifteen years. A ferocious beast he had fought and defeated and_ thought _he had buried along with his humanity long ago.

_For the first time since he could remember, he was truly scared._

* * *

"He can't be in Yokohama."

"Are you sure there's not_ anything _we've missed? There isn't anywhere we haven't looked?"

The Armed Detective Agency was hurdled around a large, squared table, scattered with notes and documents. In the middle, there was a map with excessive amounts of large, black crosses drawn all over, eliminating each searched location throughout the city.

"We've scavenged every little creak and corner, from the border to Tokyo to the port. Our colleagues in Kobe, Sapporo, and Tokyo have done an extensive search too, without any luck."

Kunikida crossed his arms with a grave expression. Atsushi was still eying the map, hoping to discover _something _they might have missed.

"I hate to say it, but I suspect that he actually is still in Yokohama," Ranpo muttered gravely, not even bothering to pretend to be using his ability. There was no use. Their colleague had vanished without a trace and they had no idea how or why.

"If this had been a group from out of the city, they would have had some sort of motive, and they would have let us know what it was," he added.

There had been no ransom demands, no one that had taken responsibility, and most importantly of all, no body.

They had gone as far as to hire divers to search the bottom of every little creek in Yokohama, even if they knew that this wasn't another suicide attempt that had finally been successful.

The evidence was clear; their coworker, friend, and ally was kidnapped. If he had tried and succeeded at killing himself, he would have let somebody know. He always did, so they wouldn't have to go out on a wild goose chase looking for him.

Strangely enough, Dazai was considerate like that.

Dazai had his flaws, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that if he was ever to disappear, they would come looking for him. They were also fairly sure that he knew they cared enough about him to know that they wouldn't rest until they found him, and that was why he always gave them _some _sort of notice when he would try to off himself, so they wouldn't waste their time.

This time, however, there was nothing. No hint of where he had gone except a busted door, a few droplets of blood and 6 months of absolutely no trace of him.

The ADA had put everything else aside to find their missing colleague. They had even developed close cooperation with the Port Mafia. Their eerily creepy leader, Ougai Mori had laughed when they had reached out to them, but Dazai's former partner, Chuuya, as well as several other members of the Port Mafia, had become quite invested in the search when they had learned about his disappearance.

At this point, there wasn't really any profiled ability-based organization in Japan that hadn't partaken in the search for Dazai in one way or another.

In spite of all of his shortcomings, Dazai turned out to be widely respected in the community of ability users. Some because of his work in the mafia, some for his work in the agency, and some plainly because of the reassurance that he could cancel their ability if it got out of hand.

It was fair to say that most of Japan were invested in finding Dazai at this point.

Still, no one had gathered any information that had lead them any closer to finding him.

"I hate to say this, but our resources are running out, and we're still not any closer to finding him," Yosano started, always the voice of reasoning.

The dark-haired doctor ignored the venomous stares she harvested from several of her younger coworkers and continued.

"From a medical standpoint, I would say that he's dead."

"Don't say that!" Atsushi retorted immediately, fists grasped tightly at chest level, with arched eyebrows. He turned around to face the young doctor, who he had eventually surpassed in height.

The thought of his friend and mentor being dead already haunted his dreams every night. Their continued search was the only thing that made him hopeful that Dazai was still alive- if they began to entertain the idea that his nightmares were real, Dazai would be dead eventually no matter what they did from this point forward.

"We can't give up on him."

"I'm not saying that- Knowing Dazai, he's way too stubborn to be killed or die in any way that seems inconvenient to him. I'm just trying to be realistic... We're not going to be able to solve this if we run out of money. We might have to start taking on cases again."

"Taking on other cases would mean that we have less time to search for Dazai," Kenji stated sadly yet accurately.

"I know, but nobody is paying us to find Dazai at this point, and there's a large stack of forms on Haruno-san's desk of actual _paid _ missions that will eventually lead us to have more resources to find him."

An argument broke lose between the agency members just as Fukuzawa entered the room.

"Yosano's right," he said solemnly, effectively breaking up the fight before it could escalate to a loud shouting match. Eight pairs of eyes turned towards the entry as Fukuzawa stepped inside.

"I've been reluctant to tell you, but if we don't take on other cases soon, there won't be enough funds to sustain the agency at all."

Two hands slammed into the work table and Kunikida stood abruptly.

"Are we just supposed to give up on him?" he retorted agitatedly, earning shocked stares across the room.

Fukuzawa's steel eyes looked at him, unaffected by the uncharacteristically rough tone. The blonde lowered his gaze, held his breath for a few seconds to calm down.

"With all due respect, director... Dazai-san has been missing for over six months now. He might be in great danger, and I don't know how any of us could live with ourselves if something were to happen to him, because we stopped searching."

Fukuzawa's tall stature came closer, and a large, strong hand reached out, grabbing and putting reassuring pressure on Kunikida's shoulder.

"I know, Kunikida-kun. I don't want to stop the search any more than any of you do. But if we don't take on a couple of missions now, we will lose all the resources we have at hand here at the agency... because there won't be one."

Kunikida cleared his throat, and looked back up and nodded affirmatively. "I-I understand, president. I'm sorry for speaking out of line, it... it's been trying times."

"I know," Fukuzawa assured him calmly. "I'm not saying to stop looking, but I do want some of you to take the time and do some of the missions. You can decide amongst yourselves who does what, and if there is anything that I can do, don't hesitate to ask."

The tall man left the room, leaving the agents to digest this new information.

Kunikida quickly snapped out of it. "Kenji and Tanizaki, go and look over the missions on Haruno-san's desk. Don't pick anything that will take away too much man-power, please. Dazai still needs to be our priority. When you've found one, come back and do a short debriefing, and we'll decide who's going. I would rather have Ranpo free to continue the search, though..."

The two young detectives nodded in unison and darted off towards Haruno's desk.

* * *

_Darkness. Consuming everything. From as far as my eye can see- to the core of my soul, it eats away, leaving room for the uneasy, strangled fear that creeps up every time I forget to pay attention. _

_ Fear doesn't need doors or windows. _

Dazai tried to keep in mind that fear was only an emotion and reminded himself how illogical _all_ feelings were. Some people were scared of heights, while other people bungy jumped.

The hight wasn't any more dangerous for the person who sought it than to the person who feared it. The only difference was their perception of it.

Just like he had no more reason to fear his captors than they had fear_ him. _

_ Because he was Osamu Dazai, previously the youngest executive of the Port Mafia in history, purely because of his brilliance and heartlessness. _

Still, one thought kept picking at his brain. Because even if that was so, someone was out to hurt and destroy him, which actually was a much more actively danger than what the space between a person and the ground was.

He wanted to tell himself that this was the kind of thinking that separated him from his persona as a mafioso. Those years ago, he believed more than anything that he himself was the only real threat to him.

He wasn't durable in a fistfight, wasn't bulletproof and was truthfully inadequate at taking care of himself. Still, what he was, kept being and had always been, was_ unbreakable. _

Maybe not physically _ (not at all, really) _, but emotionally, he was. No one had ever been able to throw him for a loop, make him unsure or scare the daylight out of him.

Not since he was a child, anyway.

...so why was it now, that he couldn't stop shaking?

In the distance, he could hear footsteps, and he held the breath he so preciously treasured, hoping they would pass him by. Keys were rattling, and the lock mechanism on the door behind him clicked.

He quickly exhaled before greedily gulping in another breath, ready for what was to come.

The door was yanked open, the chain around his neck tightening around his throat, effectively cutting off his air supply and crushing at his windpipe and almost strangling him. He was dragged back, his cuffed arms clawing at the chain around his neck while he struggled to breathe.

The zapping cane poked at his side, and he let go of the tight collar to protect himself, curling up and kicking with his legs while being zapped again and again until he lingered at the edge of unconsciousness.

Without a word from his guards, the two men picked him up between them and carried him between them, once again heading for hours upon hours of torturous interrogation.

* * *

**I have to stop this here- the story will continue in the next upload, but I haven't decided which prompt it's going to be yet! This will be several parts long, as many of the remaining prompts fits this story!**

**Thank you all for reading! Please leave a kudo/comment (or whatever, depending on where you read this) and stay awesome!**


	16. Muffled Scream (pt2 of Asphyxiation)

**Chapter 2: #19: Muffled Scream (Continuation of Asphyxiation)**

**I was finally able to tear away from the in-laws! This is the first holiday I've ever had a serious boyfriend and coming from a really small family myself, it's super strange to suddenly be a part of his enormous one. I went to him on the 25th, thinking I would stay over the night. Now, four days (and three family-gatherings later, with another two or three to go … and that's only his family)... I'm still here.**

**But, I was able to sneak off into the guest room where I have my computer and a bottle of wine, and now I'm itching to write!**

**So, this chapter is dark; consider yourself warned. Also, there's a lot of character study (I guess?). Especially concerning Kenji, who is usually very under-represented in the fics I've read. That made me curious since after watching the anime and reading (most of) the manga, I still haven't created a clear image of him.**

**A/N 29th of December: I had to go back to fix some stuff in my setup. My division lines between paragraphs didn't translate from ao3 to here, which it usually does. Also, I think ff thought I was linking to a different website and censored it when I tried to write "Dr. _Some name_", which left a very strange gap in the text a few places. Anyway, it should be fixed now!**

* * *

"These are all just spanning missions," Tanizaki complained, sighing as he rested his chin in the palm of his hand, putting away yet another mission file from a suspicious spouse or a businessman, paranoid about his associate's intentions.

"They always take up so much time and involves traveling and every time they are grossly underpaid!" He tiredly stretched out onto the hardwood table and buried his face in the fine-grained timber, groaning as his joints creaked with fatigue.

"None of these cases seems urgent enough to spend time on right now," Kenji agreed solemnly, picking a random manila folder from the pile, opening it up in his lap.

"Maybe we can make something up. Like a missing person's case somewhere in the Caribbean," Naomi suggested dreamingly, turning the page in her own file absentmindedly.

"Talk about wasting time," Tanizaki responded a bit agitated and shot a glare towards his sister. "Besides, we wouldn't get _paid _to do that."

"I just want a vacation," she smirked, hand reaching out and making its way underneath the redhead's shirt. Tanizaki blushed violently and immediately tried to fight her off.

"That's so disrespectful to Dazai-san! This is a matter of-"

Ignoring the Tanizaki-sibling's bickering, Kenji's eyes trailed intensely over the new binder at hand, reading it quickly with great vigor, before he tried to break into the slightly disturbing fight going on at the other side of the counter from him.

"Guys?"

"-life and death and we don't have time for a freaking vacat-"

"Relax brother, I'm just messing around. What's with you-"

"Hey, guys?"

"...you're never any fun anymore."

"I'm trying to _focus!"_

"Guys!"

Kenji finally raised his voice. Not loudly; he wouldn't do that. His mother had raised him right, and shouting the loudest was not part of his gentle demeanor. But, the good thing about always being the jovial one, was that once he did speak up, everybody would hold up and listen. This time was no exception. The Tanizaki siblings turned, Naomi having nearly crawled under her brother's shirt and Junichirou trying desperately to keep her out.

Kenji paused for a moment to take in whatever was going on in front of him, eventually shrugging it off as being some big-city thing that he didn't quite understand yet. He hadn't seen anyone else try to crawl up someone else's shirt in the middle of a heated argument before, but he also didn't have any sisters... _Maybe he could ask them about it later._

Satisfied with that, he slid the piece of paper over the table towards them.

Tanizaki picked it up and read silently before handing it over to Naomi, who had finally taken a seat at the chair her brother had initially set out for her.

"Niko Saito," Junichirou mused while Naomi finished skimming through the papers. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

"It's the kid that we were looking for when Dazai went missing," Naomi reminded him. Kenji nodded affirmatively.

"Six months ago, it was their mother who requested our help to find her missing daughter. But this time, it's her older sister. Look at the date," Kenji instructed, pointing a chubby finger, nail coated with dirt from his small vegetable garden, towards the top of the page.

"That's only two weeks after Dazai went missing," Tanizaki noted.

Kenji nodded again with a slight furrow between downy eyebrows, wrinkling his freckled forehead.

"Yeah... and two weeks after they recovered Niko Saito's body."

* * *

The tray stood in the corner of the room, mocking him.

Dazai hadn't known that he was able to feel hunger anymore. He could go for days on end forgetting to eat, and only remembering when close to passing out. He didn't know how long he had gone this time, but apparently, longer than he used to in his life _before_.

Maybe he had passed out already, but he couldn't be sure. Sleep and unconsciousness had always been two completely different things to him, but at this point, he took what he could get. Anything to get away, if only for a couple of minutes.

He wasn't even actually hungry anymore. It had gone far, far beyond the craving for food. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine that he could feel his body devouring through the thin layer of fat he had, starting to tear away at his muscles instead.

It wasn't going to break him, though. They would not make him get down on all four and eat from that tray like a dog. _Not again._

The first time he had gotten to a point of hunger where pure animalistic appetite made him desperate enough to degrade himself to that extent; ignoring how they had literally glued the bowl to the floor and only tossed a scoop of an unidentifiable paste onto it- that's when he had found out that whatever that pulp of brown puree was- it could not have been considered food for several weeks.

Anyone who truly knew Dazai could testify to that he had always been hyper-sensitive about what he ate and that he had a very weak stomach. For a moment, all he could do was to gorge into it in blind mania; desperately filling his gut with long sought-after nourishment. Then, after a short while, as the first bite where he could feel the maggots squirming between his teeth finally registered, he had instantly hurled out all of his meager stomach's contents back into the bowl.

They left it there, deciding that he was ungrateful and needed to finish his meal before he could get a new one, and he had sworn that he would never eat anything ever again.

He hadn't been able to hold that promise to himself. He had failed, several times, and it had made him horribly sick. But after a while, they had started to replace his _"food" _more frequently. Dazai figured that they had noticed how sick he was, and figured that they would have to make some changes to keep him alive.

This had only fueled his determination to not eat. It was a small victory, but he took what he could get.

The sound of heavy boots echoed outside his isolation, and he felt his body tense up instinctively. He held his breath, praying they would pass him by. As they stopped only a small distance away from him, he started wracking his brain about when he had showered or been to the toilet the last time. Maybe it was time for that? Usually, nothing too bad would happen then. Only a couple of half-hearted kicks or whacks over the head if he was unable to pay attention.

_...but he could remember the last time they had taken him out for that. He had no idea when it was, but the fact that he remembered at all was a bad sign for what was to come._

It creaked in a high pitched noise as the lock on the other side of the door he was shackled to slid open, and Dazai held his breath in anticipation for the pain to come. He wasn't actually afraid of the pain- it was simply something to be endured. Sometimes it would be gone in an instance and sometimes it would start small and gradually increase to a climax where it would absolutely _suck- _but it was still nothing to be _afraid _of. Other times, it would only be a dull, slightly irritating ache, and sometimes it would never truly go away.

In the end, even if he hated it, it was the promise of it that was worst.

Suddenly, _finally, _he was yanked backward by his neck. The wounds on his knees were once again reopened as his scattered knees raked across the floor while a dizzying, immeasurable pain wracked through his body from his dislocated hip. His air supply was cut off right as the door was wrenched open and it felt as if his windpipe was being crushed by the force of it.

A strangled gasp swirled around in the cold hallway for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. He was getting lightheaded; he wasn't getting enough oxygen and he felt his whole body shudder with the effort it took just to draw a breath.

Half-aware, he could hear someone talking to him. Dark pants and combat boots were crowding around him, their prods lingering threateningly and close to him as they kept throwing commands at him, waiting for him to react.

Even if he couldn't make out what they were saying, he knew what they wanted and it made him want to chuckle. Because he couldn't get up on his feet even if he had been trying, and he wouldn't be trying even if he had thought he would be able to. Giving him a shock in the state he was in, would only make him less coherent, and make their job that much harder and make it absolutely hopeless to try and make him talk- _yet again because he wouldn't be trying even he thought he would be able to._

A faint memory of an old folk tale about a snake eating its own tale came to mind. The ouroboros, he remembered. It was supposedly meant to symbolize life, death, and rebirth, but to Dazai, it had always seemed like it was a tale of a double-edged sword. People doing stupid shit and continuing doing stupid shit without gaining anything. Because no matter what, the snake would end up cannibalizing itself.

He wasn't sure if the snake was him or them in this scenario, but it didn't matter. _None of them were getting anywhere anyway._

The sharp pain of electric shock pulled him out of his musings, aimed at his bare ribcage. Dazai was hardly able to react before his head was forced up by a death grip on his hair.

The man that spoke faded in and out of focus and his voice was nothing but a muffled sound that told Dazai absolutely nothing about what was going to happen next. Two strong hands were grabbing onto his skeletal arms and hoisted him up between them and started carrying him through the hallway, towards his inevitable doom.

* * *

"Kunikida-san, we found something interesting," Kenji announced as the three teenagers came rushing back into the office. A single casefile was fluttering in the blonde's hand and quickly, it was resting on his idealistic elder's arms that were still lingering at the keyboard connected to his computer.

Kunikida's hazel eyes slowly trailed down from his screen and onto the file, a small irritated nerve twitching at the edge of his eye.

"Yes?" he answered darkly before he shifted his attention to the eager fourteen-year-old. He was clearly trying to suppress his anger at being interrupted in the middle of work by yet another impatient teenager. But looking into those hopefull emerald eyes, his fury quickly diminished, albeit reluctantly.

Being mad at Kenji was much like holding a grudge to a puppy. In the end, it would only make him feel like a heartless monster.

He took a deep, steadying breath, mentally sifting through different voices and reactions, once again realizing how big of a void the loss of Dazai had left.

_With him, it was so easy. No matter how Kunikida reacted, how much abuse and rage he subjected the glorified toilet-roll to, it would just roll off his back as if the reaction to his antics hadn't been (**slightly**) unreasonable._

It was just so liberating. Kunikida always had to censor himself around other people, in fear of hurting them. In the end, that had been his downfall as a teacher. But that was mainly because kids were _just so damn stupid. _There were so many feelings _all the time;_ so many feelings that _always _seemed to get hurt by him. In the end, that hurt him as well, but that didn't matter much when he was called into the principle's office for a tongue-lashing or a peace offering to the student he had offended's parents.

Admittedly, he respected all the brats he worked with at the agency, and things had been going well while he had his verbal punching-bag there, with him. Now, however, he found himself stepping over the line more often than not.

He needed to do better, if not for himself, then for the kids and Dazai. Because Dazai cared for those brats. Often, it seemed like Dazai even cared about him, which... felt strangely nice. Because people didn't usually like him at all. They thought he was too stubborn and rule-abiding and _mean._

_But not Dazai. If Kunikida hadn't known any better (which he absolutely **did**) he would have thought that Dazai was slightly stupid, accepting a bitter and angry man like himself for who he was just like that. There was simply **no **logical reason for it if he couldn't think of one._

"A-are you okay Kunikida-san?" Kenji suddenly asked, bringing Kunikida out of his toxic train of thoughts. Moss-rimmed eyes stared at him with a concerned squint to them, and the frost that had crept up on him seemed to melt away in a moment.

"Yes, Kenji-kun. I got lost in thought for a moment, that's all. Don't worry about it," Kunikida answered, slightly surprised by the softness of his own voice. As the worry slowly vanished from the boy's face, Kunikida continued just as calmly, "what is it that you've found?"

The teen's face lit up in an instant and opened the file for him, pointing towards the page where the applier had to register their personal information.

"This case came in just two weeks after Dazai-san went missing," he explained eagerly.

"It's about the same girl he was looking for, except this time, it's from the girl's sister," Tanizaki shot in.

"But they found her, didn't they?" Kunikida asked as he read through the first page, scratching the small stubbles on his chin.

"Yeah, unfortunately, they found her washed up along the Yokohama river, but that's not actually the point. Dazai-san went missing just a few days after she was found dead-"

"It looked like a drowning, but the girl was an excellent swimmer," Ranpo interrupted Kenji, stepping forward between the three teens and gaining their attention.

"Her sister, Hinata, said that Niko was captain of the swimming team when she and her mother came by when the girl initially went missing. She held a record for holding her breath the longest on her swimming team," he reminisced.

"I remember that," Kunikida murmured thoughtfully.

"So, when she was found, the police decided it was an accidental drowning and closed the case. Apparently, the sister must think otherwise," Ranpo deducted.

"Do you know what she was wearing when they found her?" Kunikida asked.

"She had stripped to her u-undergarments," Ranpo said shyly, blushing as he remembered the crime-scene photos he had gotten a small glimpse of while helping the police with a different case.

"It was in the middle of summer. She might have felt like a spontaneous swim," Naomi pointed out.

"But she had swim practice every day. It seems unlikely that she wouldn't have her bathing suit with her," Kenji retorted.

Silence fell upon the room for a while as the five of them thought. Eventually, it was Kenji who broke the silence.

"So, what do you think Kunikida-san? Is this a lead we should be looking into?"

This time Kunikida didn't miss a beat. If anything, he was kicking himself for not having doubted the outcome of the case that Dazai had gone missing after sooner. When did he start trusting that the police knew what they were doing if not Ranpo had aided the investigation anyway? Those lazy bastards were getting way too comfortable these days.

_"Absolutely."_

* * *

This was new, and new was _never _good. Not in this place, anyway.

Dazai was strapped to a table he recognized from his days in the Port Mafia. It was a surgical table, there was no doubt about that. But not the soft leathery ones, covered in blue or green rolls of paper. This was made of steel and felt unyielding and chilled down his bare back and every part of his body that could possibly move was strapped down by belts with big buckles that buried painfully into his skin as he tried to move.

His eyes darted from one side to the other- trying to get just the slightest of hints about what was about to happen to him. Slight recognition of the room dawned upon him, but he would only wake up there when he was at his weakest; at the absolute brink of death. That gave him a faint hope of not getting out of there alive.

That made him calm down a little, with the hope that this could possibly be the last stop; the stop he was getting off on after an endless train ride with a long-expired ticket.

An apparition appeared at the edge of his vision. He expected that it would be Dr. _You-shall-not-pass,_ as he had nicknamed him, inspired by a long-ago memory he had of being forced to watch a strange movie at the cinema as an important client's date in his Port Mafia-days.

Dr. You-shall-not-pass would make sure that he got the life-saving treatment each time they had pushed him too far _(or as of late; when he had pushed himself too far), _but this time, that was not what met him.

It was _Him. _The middle-aged guy with the smoker's laugh. Icy blue eyes stared down at him with a satisfied grin, uncovering his yellowing teeth. Without meaning to, the small amount of air Dazai was able to inhale got caught in his throat and if he wasn't so dehydrated, he would spit into that smug face.

"Now, young man," the man said with his graveled voice. The parting nicotine-stained teeth revealed a souring breath; not being able to breathe properly while having his nose stuffed with sickness after days, weeks or months of malnourishment was all that kept Dazai from vomiting.

"I heard that you haven't been eating the food I've prepared-_ just for you_. Now that just breaks my heart."

_'Food is a strong over-statement,' _Dazai wanted to say, but as he opened his mouth to speak, two calloused hands abruptly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and hastily made their way between his teeth, forcing his jaw open.

He immediately started to struggle, but his limbs were held down tightly and he could hardly move millimeters from the table. Dazai arched his back and bit down as hard as he could, but the hands that held his mouth open hardly seemed to flinch by his futile efforts.

Amidst his desperate fight to gain _some _control back of his own self, he could hear the venomous voice of his captor.

"If you won't eat, I guess we'll just have to feed you, won't we?"

A pale yellow tube closed in on him and his jaw was forced even wider. A small click sounded from somewhere close to his temples, and he wondered if his jaw had been dislocated. The hands holding the tube didn't relent by this, and Dazai stuck his tongue out to make yet another hinder for the feeding tube to pass, but all that left him was blood coating his gap as the sharp edges of the tube cut into if before the device was forced down his throat.

Panic like Dazai had never felt panic before hit him; something feral; animalistic providing him with a strength he didn't know he had. The bands against his right wrist suddenly snapped and immediately, he went for the tube, trying to tear it out from his throat.

A guard was quickly grabbing onto it, forcing it back far enough that they could hear the bone snap. Dazai let out a choked cry of anguish before several crackling prods were pushed into his line of sight.

He was able to feel a nauseating sensation of something filling up his gut before the shock-sticks shot him from several different angles. His vision was tunneling, and hicks for air ravaged through his entire body from the offending article forced into his insides while a muffled scream tore its way through his broken form, and he _finally_ lost consciousness.

* * *

**TBC**


	17. Wake up! (Pt3 of Asphyxiation)

**#20 Wake up! (Part three of Asphyxiation)**

**This title is a bit of a stretch, but I needed a chapter like this at this point in the story.**

* * *

_So this is how it is. After years trying to make things right, this is how I'm going to spend the last of my days. It almost makes one want to keep on living... and how fucked up isn't that? _

_After trying to kill myself my entire life, here I am, at the brink of death, fighting to stay alive. _

_If karma was on my side, I might be as bold as to think I deserved another chance, but… Anyone else perhaps. I deserve what I'm getting, and if it's under false pretenses or not, it really doesn't matter._

_On the one hand, all I want to do is die and be done with it. Kick the bucket one final time, releasing the Agency of their duties of looking for me. Because I know they're looking. The idiots won't leave this alone before they know exactly what happened._

_Then, on the other hand, I want to show these fuckers exactly who I am. No matter how hard I've fought to walk in the light, I'm still Osamu Dazai. The youngest executive in Port Mafia history, the second half of the infamous double black. The monster, the _**_legend_**_. _

_...reduced to less than the shadow I once cast. _

_I can't believe I ever thought that things couldn't get any worse._

_Just when you think you've lost _**_everything... _**_You'll find out that you can always lose a little more._

* * *

"Hinata-chan, it's nice to meet you again. I only wish it was under different circumstances," Kunikida greeted solemnly and directed the short brunette to sit on the same couch she had been seated at six months ago together with her mother.

"Kunikida-san, I'm so happy you have reconsidered taking our case further. There's just no way Niko-chan would have drowned like that- she knew better than to go swimming by herself."

Kunikida forced himself not to frown, recognizing that taking on this case was more selfish than not, but he had to act professionally.

"It was never about doubting your suspicions. It's just been very busy," he said. Technically, _that _wasn't a lie.

"Is Dazai-san here too? He was such excellent help when Niko-chan was missing, even if it turned out the way it did," the young lady asked, looking around the office landscape where several of the other agents immediately turned away and suddenly looked extremely engaged with whatever conveniently close to their positions in the room.

"Unfortunately, he is not," Kunikida answered carefully. "I'm going to be completely honest with you, Hinata-chan. Dazai-san has been missing for six months."

He watched closely as the young woman's expression changed. She looked surprised.

"R-really?"

"Yes, sadly. He disappeared only days after your sister was found."

Hinata looked incredulously into the air in front of her, brows curved into a small scowl.

"And you think it might have a connection to my sister's death," she concluded finally.

Kunikida took a deep breath before he answered. He didn't want the girl to think that this was the only reason they took her case; even if it kinda was. It was hard to look at it in an unbiased way right now.

"Yes, we do," Kunikida settled on, quickly adding, "but that doesn't mean that we wouldn't have taken the case if it wasn't for that. If Dazai-san had been here, I can assure you that he would have been on it as soon he had seen it. That's the only reason we haven't been aware of your application until now. I'm going to be frank with you, most of our time since he went missing, has gone towards looking for him."

Hinata folded her hands in her lap, big bright cerulean eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"I guess it's been a difficult six months for all of us, huh?" she muttered gravely. Kunikida couldn't do anything but agree.

"So, what do you think? Would you like to go through with this?"

"Yes, yes I would. Whatever you need. I want justice for my sister and Dazai-san's disappearance only amplifies my suspicion that everything is _not _as it seems."

"I believe you are right," Kunikida acknowledged with a short nod and paused for a moment to collect himself. He had read through Dazai's lack-lustered reports from the search, again being reminded of how infuriating it was that the ex-mafioso was so reluctant to put down the work and do it properly. In any other job, a person would have been sacked for something like that.

"I read in your application that your parents-understandably- have taken your sister's death very hard and don't want to go any further into it, but it would be of really big help if they could come in for a talk as well. All and any information would be greatly appreciated."

"Oh, uh, I… I can ask them. But I won't promise anything. My mother will probably try her best, but dad is… a bit more stubborn. I think he took her death the hardest of all of us. He has buried himself in his work ever since. He's hardly ever home anymore."

Kunikida reached out and gave her a compassionate clasp on the shoulder.

"I can only imagine. We will be very respectful. Is there one thing all of the members in our agency knows all too well, it's the pain of being the ones left behind."

A sad smile graced Hinata's thin lips as she gathered her things and left. Kunikida kept his seat in the small area where they would interview their clients for a little bit after she had gone. He felt conflicted about this. Unsure if anything they could learn about the poor girl's death would benefit the family in any way. In the end, it seemed like the only ones that could possibly gain anything at all on this was _them. _

...and Dazai. And they were definitely running out of time. The sly bastard was persevering, which he had shown time and time again. But six months was a hell of a long time, even considering that the idiot had nine lives and always seemed to land on his feet. He might twist an ankle in the landing but, somehow, it never seemed to slow him down.

"Yo, d'you know where Dazai's reports on the Saito-case has gone?" Ranpo suddenly startled him out of his musings with his question. Kunikida had to think for a moment, before he replied.

"I think Atsushi had it last. Ask him if he's done with it," he muttered absentmindedly. The short detective frowned a little but didn't say anything before he turned around, headed for the weretiger's desk.

After another couple of minutes, Kunikida was able to tear himself away from his spiraling thoughts towards doing something a little more productive.

He had studied the Yokohama map filled with large black X's and notes written in the margin for about half an hour when Ranpo approached him again.

"Uh, Kunikida-san? Did you read Dazai-san's research from this case?"

Kunikida scoffed. _Of course, he had- several times. _It was the usual chicken-scratches he always presented. Hardly legible, after being hand-written with poor grammar, going back and forth in time seemingly at random, with small add-ins with arrows pointing to where he had meant to put it and scratches where he had spelled a word wrong or changed his mind on how to articulate it.

"Obviously," he answered before he shrugged. "Well, as far as it was decipherable at all."

"Well actually… I think it was code."

For several seconds, Kunikida was unable to grasp what the brown-clad detective in front of him had just said. Because he had read that file so many times that he could quite literally recite it from memory, and not for a damn _second _had he spotted any sort of code in those crumbled up papers that looked more like they had been fished out from the bottom of a primary schooler's backpack at the end of a school year than as an official document.

"...what?"

"I crosschecked with some of his older reports and it's the same thing. It seems like he always keeps personal notes hidden in code through his reports."

"No, I mean… What the hell are you talking about? There's a code?"

"...which I've already deciphered of course. It's actually quite common. They make a code, mostly to themselves to keep track of their personal thoughts and surmises in their investigations. It's not too complicated, for the trained eye I mean, but they make sure to make it complex enough that they won't get in trouble with the higher-ups if they turn out to be wrong. To avoid being punished for having damning suspicions against their clients for example, or chasing leads that don't turn up anything. It's almost like pig-Latin, really, except it's personalized but there's a fixed pattern and-"

"How in the world haven't you seen that before?" Kunikida snapped, to which Ranpo looked fiercely offended.

"Now you just hold on a second! This is the first time I've laid eyes on that file and I recognized the pattern right away! The Saito-case was sad and all, but it was not a high-profiled case in any sense of the word. Nobody else that's read it recognized it!"

"Yeah, yeah, fine. I get it. I'm sorry. Would you please just _tell me what it says?" _Kunikida growled between clenched teeth.

"Well, there's nothing about a possible location yet, but," Ranpo took a deep breath and started laying out the pieces of paper in front of Kunikida. "...at least Dazai-san provided us with a name."

* * *

"Wake up," a dark voice commanded from somewhere still far beyond consciousness. It repeated itself, several times, coaxing him back to the awful truth of his current existence. His body ached fiercely, foremost his head and throat and the newly broken arm which had not been properly set yet _(he didn't know what he had expected; of course they would want him aware for that)_. The rest of his body hurt too, but it seemed to bleach to this new sensation that was conquering his being. There was dull nausea deep inside his gut too, that threatened to surface more and more at each second that went by.

"That's it. Can you look at me?" the masked man said, and Dazai faintly recognized him as the doctor who just _would not let him die._ "I have talked them into having you here for at least a couple of hours. You're not going to feel great after this. I'm going to keep you on this IV to avoid any dehydration. That sometimes happens after a… meal like this," the doctor said, looking between his patient and the bag of liquid on the rack a few centimeters above him.

"I also want to keep you on oxygen. When someone has starved themselves for as long as you have, there's always the risk of refeeding syndrome. I've been given strict instructions to not let you die, so that is what I'm going to do."

Dazai was sure he wouldn't have been able to care if he wanted to because as the doctor finished talking, he felt the bile rise in his throat. If it hadn't been for the bonds that still tied him firmly in place, he would have been able to turn on his side to avoid choking on his own vomit.

Luckily, Dr. You-shall-not-pass was quickly at work, loosening the restraints on his head and arms to give him enough reach to puke into the basin that was ready at his side.

Dazai emptied himself entirely, strangely comforted at the feeling. At least, it had calmed the nausea. Latex-gloved hands were steadying him for a moment, ready to lower him back into the bed.

Something inside Dazai's mind shifted in that instance. A tempting while slightly scary thought crossed his mind. Something that had not occurred yet up to this point in his captivity; _an opportunity._

Before giving it much more thought, _or perhaps unable to, _Dazai reached for the basin with shaky hands and quickly whacked it over the doctor's head. He was maybe weak, injured and sick, but if you've killed as many people as Dazai had, you knew where to aim.

There was almost a small pang of guilt ignited in Dazai as the doctor folded in on himself and flopped onto the floor in a motionless heap. But, there was no time to dwell on it. Adrenaline had struck and that was literally the only hope he had of getting out of here without being rescued in the state he was in.

Quickly, he fumbled with the rest if his restraints and yanked the IV out of his hand, threw off his blanket and placed his feet on the floor and got up.

And imminently fell back down. His hip throbbed as if it was set ablaze, leaving him immobilized on the floor while heaving for air as the bile once again rose in his throat.

An alarm had started to signal in the distance and Dazai was faintly aware that he had screwed up the only chance he would get to escape. His vision had already started to blacken in the edges when several armed men entered the room, shouting and making too many loud noises to handle anymore.

This time, Dazai considered himself lucky once the illuminating sticks closed in on him with the promise of blissful unawareness. He even made a point of resisting, just so they would make sure that he was thoroughly _out _before he would meet his inevitable punishment.


	18. Nightmare (pt 4 of Asphyxiation)

**Chapter 4: #21 Nightmare**

**Once again, the prompt is a slight stretch. But I don't really care. Mehe. So, some of you might have seen my message on my profile, but some of you probably didn't. Something happened and it might make me upload less frequently in a period of time. Something happened, as in life-changing, and in a bad way and I need some time to deal with it. This chapter was nearly done, and I felt like writing for a bit, so I finished it...ish. I don't know. Anyway, I know that the next chapter in this will make a lot of progress, so at least you have something to look forward to, even if this chapter might leave you a bit... unfulfilled. Maybe. My head isn't all here. Or there. Or Anywhere.**

* * *

_Small glimpses of a china funnel, attached to a thick yellow tube faded in and out. An arm, clad in paper-thin fabric wearing rubber gloves was holding the funnel hight above him while a thick greenish-yellow goo was poured into it. Dazai vaguely realized that blood was gushing from his nose as the tube was forced further down his throat, while he wheezed like a drowning man. His restrains made a ruckus as he desperately tried to break loose, ignoring the pain in his body for this new unendurable agony. _

_The tube kept being shoved further and further down. Eventually, he felt the thick sob entering his stomach, and he choked as it urgently tried to get back up. His mouth was clamped shut, and even if his chains wouldn't allow him to move anywhere, several pairs of hands held him down as he faded in and out of awareness until the bag of slush being poured directly into his stomach was empty. _

Dazai startled awake, a sharp twinge darting through his abdomen in phantom pains after the unpleasant retraction of the feeding tube. He wasn't sure how long it had been since the force-feeding, but he wasn't able to stay awake for more than minutes at the time. The dizzyness would make the room turn as if he felt the earth rotate, leaving him dry-heaving and hyperventilating.

His dreams were bizarre. Still, they felt more real than the world around him. At the time he had first come through, he was still in an unfamiliar space, making the border between hallucinations and reality impossibly blurred.

The faint memories from the day before were the first thing he recognized once the nearly unendurable pain finally gushed through his feeble form. He tried to take a deep intake of air, which only made his burning chest feel like it was about to explode, leaving him gasping like a fish out of water. The panic kept building up, but he stubbornly quelched it down.

_He could still breathe if he only stayed calm. _There was still oxygen circulating through his lungs, and as long as he didn't panic, that would be enough, even if it felt a little like breathing through a straw.

Closing his eyes, he hoped it would shut the outside world out enough to focus. Focus on his breaths and his heartbeat. He closed his mouth, humming tiny noises with his lips in a slow, steady beat, hoping his heart would follow the small thuds that vibrated down his chest.

But, before he could find out if it worked, a door opened close-by.

"Ah, so you're awake," the familiar voice with the accented Japanese said before the door closed, locking the new presence inside the room with him.

The only sound Dazai could make was a choked wheeze as the cigarette-stained man approached.

"You really messed up yesterday," he continued, resting a palm on the table Dazai was lying on, close to the raven-haired man's head.

Chills went down Dazai's spine and he closed his eyes again, wishing he had the strength to break out of the bonds that held him down. It used to be his specialty. There wasn't a cuff he couldn't break out of if he wanted. Now, however, that seemed like a lifetime ago. At this point, he was sure he couldn't have held his own weight- even if it hadn't been for his shattered hip.

"I'm starting to give up on you, kid," the middle-aged man said in mock-regret. Dazai frowned and tried to turn his head to face away from his abuser, but his head was too tightly bound to the table.

"I'm also running out of ideas on how to make you talk. Things seemed so easy when you still had all your finger and toenails."

Dazai winched at the memory of the pins being shoved under his nails.

"You are just too fucking stubborn… But," his captor sighed, "I guess we'll start with the regular. Maybe inspiration will strike."

Before Dazai could comprehend what was being said to him, a scab on a bearly healed stab wound along his ribcage was being re-cut, and a hand filled with fine-grained salt quickly rubbed the bleeding surface. The familiar burning gave him a short boost of adrenaline before it dissolved into pure anguish.

The procedure was repeated over every slightly recovered wound on his body until it felt as if his entire form was in flames.

A strangled cry ripped through his body, but as much as he wanted to scream, he couldn't make a sound. Instead, he laid trembling in his restraints on the frigid board.

"Actually," the man mused as he watched over Dazai's writhing figure. "I do have a device that I've been wanting to test out." He leaned over the diverting gaze of his victim, waiting patiently until Dazai's eyes were fixated on him.

"It's not my own invention per-say, but I have never tried it before. I made it with you in mind."

The elderly man disappeared out of the room for several minutes and eventually returned with a simple-looking device made of metal with a handle on top. It had protruding studs on the interior surface with bars lined up with sharp metal points. Dazai recognized it instantly.

He had seen it before, but that one was at a much smaller scale. He realized that this particular device wasn't made for only fingers and toes. This Thumbscrew could crush much, _much _lager bones.

He mentally braced himself for what could possibly be the worst pain he would have to endure his entire life.

* * *

"I've looked everywhere, I can not find a man with that name," Kunikida sighed, slapping the screen of his laptop down with a defeated grunt.

"Are you sure you've got it right?"

Only then did Ranpo honor his younger coworker with his attention. The master detective glowered towards him grimly, protruding his lip as he walked over to the blonde's desk.

"Of course I'm sure," he muttered sourly. Still, he decided to humor his friend and look at Dazai's notes once more, even if it was no possibility of him being wrong about this. After taking a copy of the report, he had drawn circles around letters and words in different colors and translated them into a document for his more simple-minded coworkers to understand.

"Look, he literally spelled out the name, _Dan Gavagan _right there!" He pointed to the rings he had drawn with a green pen at random block-letters through the report, made to look like poor personalized hand-writing.

"Yes, I can see that. But is there any possibility that it's something else?"

"Like what?" Ranpo retorted in a sharp tone, standing defensively with his hands on his hips and leaning closer towards the bespectacled man.

"How the hell am I supposed to know? You're supposed to be the genius!"

"Yeah? Well, tell me how much _you've _contributed to this investigation thus far, grouchy-pants!"

Soon, they were both scowling intensely at each other, only a few centimeters apart.

"Cut it out," a stern alto-voice interrupted. Hands suddenly rested on top of both of their heads, bumping them together none too gently.

Small painful yelps escaped the detectives as their foreheads connected, leaving each of them rubbing vigorously at pink, swelling spots slightly beneath their hairlines.

"How is this helping? It's neither doing anything for the case or anyone else who's working on it, so _please _shut up." Yosano half stood, half sat on Kunikida's desk.

As they started shouting on top of one another and pointing accusing fingers, arguing how the other was at fault, Yosano rolled her eyes wryly. Her palm slammed onto the desk, tea-cups and office supplies jingling in their spots and effectively stopping the two stubborn men.

"_ Enough!" _

Kunikida sighed tiredly while Ranpo crossed his arms, looking away.

"I think," Kunikida started, checking to see if Ranpo was listening. Satisfied that he _somewhat reluctantly _was, he continued. "I think we should call Hinata and ask her about the name. Maybe she recognizes it."

Yosano directed a pointed stare towards Ranpo. He chewed on his lip, considering it for a few short moments before he tilted his head in a passive-aggressive nod.

Content that the two were finally agreeing on something, Yosano decided that it was her cue to leave. She shot a warning glance towards them as he pranced off towards her infirmary.

"So, I guess I'll call her then," Kunikida mumbled, already reaching for his cellphone.

"Go ahead," Ranpo confirmed, before retreating to his own desk. Instead of getting seated in the office chair, he crawled his way under the desk, pulling out his emergency candy stash and settled in to sulk there for a while.

A red lollipop was quickly undressed from its wrapper and found its way into his mouth. _All of this was so stupid. _Dazai wouldn't just disappear like that. At least not without _him _, the _greatest detective probably of all time _, having any idea of where he could have gone _. _He was sure he hadn't committed suicide because Dazai could hardly leave for the toilet without announcing it.

Also, he always told them when he was about to… Just so that, _maybe, _someone could give him a reason not to. At least, that was what Ranpo had gathered. Because Dazai wanted to _want _to live. He didn't right now- or, well… Not when he disappeared. And through the last couple of years, his ramblings about the perfect methods and, more importantly, his attempts, had become rarer, further apart. That cursed book hadn't been inside the office for a long time either. Nobody pointed it out, but they had all noticed.

...and then, he vanished.

It just seemed so pointless.

A chair was pulled back, creaking loudly on the floor close to his own spot, surprising Ranpo out of his musings.

"Kunikida-san?" Ranpo heard Atsushi's frail voice ask while the steps approached his desk and knocked on the tabletop.

"It's their dad," he announced grimly, voice sounding like ice in the middle of winter and tone as pointed as the tip of a dagger. Ranpo instantly scrambled to his feet with a dubious look, but the glare Kunikida held, erased any doubt in Ranpo's mind.

_This was bad. _

* * *

Dazai had no idea that this man's psyche was as weak as it was. How little it took to push him over the edge from a loving father to murderous father, and from a murderous father to a grieving father and then to a deranged psychopath.

After they had found Niko, it truly did look like an accidental drowning. Everything pointed towards it, but how the child had been a champion swimmer, gone for an entire week before she conveniently was washed up on the shore of Yokohama's biggest river, just didn't sit right with him. The big question mark that still remained in Dazai's mind, was her father.

Never even once during the week that the girl had been missing had he been available to meet up with the Agency. According to the mother and Hinata, he was a huge workaholic, who held his work at a military-ran laboratory at a high priority, and apparently, they were at the brink of a big scientifical breakthrough.

_Strictly confidential,_ **_of course._**

Common decency told him that he shouldn't intrude on the family in their time of grief after Niko had been found by the river, but he still decided to contact them to offer his condolences. It wasn't until he heard that their father had still gone to work that next morning that he decided to show up there unannounced.

Getting clearance wouldn't have been too difficult, but he still decided it would be more fun to try and break into the facility- _because once you've been dragged by the neck by barbwire, climbing a fence embroidered with it really felt like a walk in the park. _

He was almost disappointed when it hadn't been more difficult to get inside the lab, but once he was in, he quickly realized a huge piece of what must have happened.

The smell of chlorine had been overwhelming the moment he entered, and he had swiftly found the swimming pool in the basement. It seemed fairly new, or at least recently restored. A sinking feeling ran through Dazai with the realization. His mind raced, running through the information he had learned about Niko this previous week.

_She was an elite swimmer. She held a record for holding her breath in the county- he couldn't recall the exact time, it didn't seem important at the time and he had really selective hearing- but he remembered that it was longer than he could and that he had been impressed.  
_  
_Her friends and family had said that she had been distant the past year, starting about the same time as she started working out more seriously. _

_She had spent more time working out after school than hanging out with her friends. When asking her teammates, they said that she must have been training somewhere else because she only attended the practices with the swimming team, never training with them after school except for the scheduled days while still having remarkable progress. _**_Like for instance setting a new county record on holding her breath._**

This must have been where she went. Was there one thing he had learned as a detective, it was that there was no such thing as a coincidence.

Had there been an accident? Someone might have found her and panicked- which could quite easily have been her father.

He took a moment to look around, heading for the small area in the back where a desk with an office set-up was situated, as well as some kind of machine that he didn't recognize- only parts of it; like the oxygen mask, as well as a setup for heart monitors and a device that would monitor the amount of oxygen flowing through your blood.

Reaching out to turn through the pages of the documents at the desk, realization slowly dawned upon him. There were numbers. 1,23, 1,52, 2,00, 2,36, 3:04…

It just ascended from there.

There were several methods for training your lungs to hold your breath that Dazai could think of, but from the dates at the margin of the forms, it seemed unlikely that _anyone _would be able to have this kind of increase during only a year.

The machines behind him suddenly came to mind, and he wondered if they might have something to do with it. Searching them meticulously, he tried to memorize any details that stood out so he could draw it up once he got back to the agency.

The numbers on the oxygen tanks simply didn't add up, and he noted that lungs exposed to that kind of pressure might possibly…

_...they must have pushed her lungs too far. _

_She _was the experiment they were working on in here. The sudden boost in lung capacity… it must have been artificially induced. Dazai stared wide-eyed at the machines, slowly puzzling the pieces together.

The machine. It must have over-exhausted her lungs. They must have stretched her too far, to a point where her small body couldn't take it anymore. If a person could drown on oxygen, that was quite possibly exactly what happened. Her lungs must have simply erupted from the force pushed into them.

Dazai managed to feel slightly nauseous by the thought before something whacked him across the head.


	19. Embrace (pt 5 of Asphyxiation)

**Chapter 5: #20 Embrace**

**Summary: In which Fukuzawa is dad AF and gives all the hugs.**

**I'm not sure if this is truly whump. Kinda? I don't know. It's a "story progress-chapter", I guess.**

* * *

It made sense for Dazai to be held at a military base. That is, if he was still alive at all. It would be one of the few places that they wouldn't have the authority nor the inclination to search. As the two SUV's pulled up behind the tall fence surrounding the facility, a strict looking man in full uniform approached, waiting for them to exit the vehicles. He looked to be about forty and had shaved the sides of is head. On top, his hair was in a braid that trailed a little down behind his back.

"Fukuzawa-sama," the man greeted. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise to you, General Kano. I only wished it was under different circumstances." The military official named Kano gave them a solemn nod and peered across the yard towards the high-security building.

"Yeah, it was terrible what happened to poor Niko-chan. Do you really think Dan Saito knows anything about your subordinate's disappearance?"

Fukuzawa looked to Kunikida, who quickly caught on and went to work.

"You wouldn't know if Dr. Dan Saito used to go under a different last name, would you?" Kunikida asked severely.

"Oh, I don't-" Kano dwelled, suddenly remembering something. "Well, he is originally European. From Ireland, I believe. I've never put too much thought into it." He elaborated. "His Japanese is fairly good and he's an extraordinary scientist. I didn't hire him personally, so I haven't read about his background and never felt the need to. But now that you mention it, I think he might have said something at a party several years ago, about taking his wife's last name as to not stick out like a sore thumb on the market once he got permission to work in Japan."

"Gavigan," Ranpo muttered gravely, and Kunikida gave him a curt nod. Recognition sparked in Kano's nearly black eyes as he heard the name.

"So, what's the plan, General?" Fukuzawa asked finally, getting restless. They couldn't keep wasting time if Dazai really was this close. And if he wasn't… well, then they _ really _couldn't afford to be wasting so much time.

"This facility does top-secret research. Only military personnel authorized with the highest level of clearance is allowed inside," Kano explained, peering behind the ADA director, towards his subordinates. "I'm extremely wary about this. I know Fukuzawa-sama already has level five clearance, but the rest of you… I can't even really disclose what they're doing research on in here in front of you."

"Weapons," Ranpo declared casually, looking back to the slightly disturbed face of the military official.

"I- uh, as I said, I can't disclose that," he stuttered nervously, scratching the back of his head while smiling crookedly. "But-"

"But I'm right?" Ranpo interrupted, receiving a brief wave from Fukuzawa to drop it.

"_ But_," Kano started again. "We've been in contact with the Special Ability Department, who pulled a couple of strings so that you all have temporary level five clearance." As eyes grew wide around him, he hurriedly added, "Which is of course _ strictly confidential. _ And it runs out the moment you're done with the investigation on your missing colleague. _ " _

Fukuzawa took a couple of steps forward and embraced one of the general's hands between his own, bowing his head deeply. "Thank you so much, General. I'm in debt to you," he told him sincerely, before turning to his subordinates.

"Let's go."

* * *

Dazai laid slumped down on the floor in his cell once again, the cuff around his neck back in place. He was faintly aware of him being unable to move due to the heaviness of his body, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Now, he was waiting for death. There was nothing left in him to fight with. There was no use to even try, because he would only break further, making the rest of his miserable existence more painful and torturous.

The room was so cold- he couldn't remember it being this cold before, and it was so, _ so _quiet. The only sound was his own ragged breathing, tearing painfully though his chest and making him want to cough but, he couldn't even manage that. What the hell did Dan want from him? He wasn't going to admit to killing Niko, especially not by the means of torture. It had never worked on him and never would. His natural defiance was too strong, even at the brink of losing his own sanity.

At this point, Dazai was convinced that Dan _honestly _did believe that Dazai had killed Niko, and would swear on his own innocence. The man was insane, it was as simple as that, and kept assuring Dazai that he would turn him into the police once he had confessed to his crimes on tape. The thing was, Dazai knew he wouldn't do that.

He had hope- at first. That may be, if he did confess and was turned into police and they saw the tapes of his savage beatings, they would believe him when he said he didn't do it. Then, the sessions of torture grew much more violent and varied so much more beyond the cattle-prods and nail-pulling. New instruments were used each time, and Dazai had realized that he had turned into a lab rat.

At the end of his ropes- he would be disposed of in a garbage bag in the dumps for toxic waste.

His breath hitched suddenly as a wave of nauseating pain ran through his body. Both his eyes were nearly swelled shut at this point, and it was too dark to see anything anyway, but he was still sure the room was spinning. He waited the attack out patiently, hoping he would pass out from it eventually, just to make time pass. Almost lost in his fever-dreams of blissful unawareness of what was happening to his body and mind, he heard footsteps in the hallway outside. His body tensed. There were several of them this time- more than two or three, like there usually was. This sounded like a whole group.

Panic struck him momentarily. Because he didn't know what this meant- didn't know what was going to happen next. It made him want to struggle, put up a fight, but, there wasn't a body part left he could move freely. Everything _ hurt _ and he was so _ very afraid. _ Tired of being in _ pain _ and feeling _ hungry _ and _ sick _ and _ why couldn't it just stop already? _

The rattling of keys was heard urgently behind him, and he closed his eyes while inhaling as softly as he could, ready to be jerked back with the door. Whatever was going to happen, just had to happen. He had no longer control over his own faith- which, to be perfectly honest he hadn't been for the bigger part of his life. But… this was never what he had imagined, even after his whole childhood under Mori's medical experiments. Really, this is exactly what he should have expected. _Just not what he had been stupid enough to hope for._

Finally, the terrifying anticipation was over, and he was jerked back with a strangled cry.

* * *

"What do you mean _ 'Dr. Saito abruptly left moments ago'?" _ Kano yelled furiously at a young, gradually kneeling subordinate, looking absolutely horrified back up at the General.

"Uh, well, _ sir, _ I, uh, he s-said there was a family emergency, _ sir," _ the major stuttered apologetically, clearly struggling to keep his back straight in fear of his higher commander. Nearly black orbs peered venomously at the man, knowing exactly how to make someone talk, even _(or especially)_ when they didn't want to.

"B-but I think…" the startled officer uttered, trailing off.

"You think _ what, _Major Masaharu? Speak up!" Kano growled back, effectively getting his charge to straighten his back and tighten his expression.

"I think…" he lowered his voice and looked assessingly at the Agents standing stoically behind his superior, unsure if they were supposed to hear this or not. "...it has something to do with… _ the basement." _

"The-" Understanding sparked in the coal-colored eyes, and he gestured for the Agency to follow as he walked with long strides towards an old looking goods lift, dismissing the frightened major as they moved.

"There's an old cellblock in the basement, some shady business went down here during the Siberian Intervention, but it's not supposed to be used for anything anymore. It's registered as a warehouse now, but the pens are still there," he said darkly, sliding a key-card and pushing the elevator door open.

"Do you think Dazai-san is really down there?" Atsushi asked with a tint of faith in his voice as they entered the worn, grey elevator. Dual-colored eyes looked hopefully between Fukuzawa, Kunikida and Kano, wishing that any one of them would give him some sort of confirmation. They looked at each other, and Kunikida shifted his stance, nearly losing his balance as the elevator started its descent with a lengthy groan.

"All we can do is hope, Atsushi-kun," Fukuzawa said calmly. The only thing that revealed his rising awareness was the very keen stare on the wall that seemed to slide upwards in front of them. He was highly concentrated, ready to raise hell if necessary.

The room they entered was large and smelled like mold. It felt strangely damp, while still having the frigidness of an old cellar. The air was filled with particles that surely couldn't be healthy to inhale if spending any amount of time down there.

"This way," Kano directed silently, walking towards a heavy door at the other end of the room. It did indeed look like a door leading into a high-security prison. The old lock mechanism had been replaced by a code-lock, and Kano briefly looked at a small piece of paper he had tucked away in his pocket, before entering an eight-digit code.

"Fukuzawa-sama?" Kono said and didn't need to add anything else. Fukuzawa raised his katana, nodding towards Kunikida to pull out his gun before they entered first and made sure the next room was clear.

The tension rose considerably by the added precautions, as they ventured further into the windowless labyrinth. Finally, they reached a long narrow room with numerous rusted, steel doors standing almost side by side from one end of the room to the other.

"Be careful. Someone could be hiding in any one of these cells," Kunikida huffed with his gun raised and his back facing the wall. Simultaneous nods stretched across the group of agents as they got ready to search the place.

"Wait," Kono said abruptly, looking intently of a large key change with countless of keys on it. He flipped through each of them as if he knew each one, until he stopped somewhere at the end of the chain.

"There's supposed to be three sets of keys to all of these pens. They're not supposed to be in use anymore, so nobody is supposed to be in possession of any of these. But we're missing one_ . _The general's eyes went to one of the blocks the furthest down, and they started walking. The younger ones of the agents had to restrain themselves from breaking out into full sprints, nerves and expectations exploding out of their chests, but the elders made sure to keep their excitement low. This was not the time to do anything rash.

A collective sigh ran through the group as they came to a stop in front of the suggested room, and they realized quickly that it was indeed the only door that was locked shut.

"Get behind the door," Kunikida ordered and hurdled everyone away, getting his gun ready as Kono unlocked the door and quickly yanked it open. The military official bearly had time to be startled by the unexpected weight of the door, and the painful cry that followed and quickly died out, before he realized what was being dragged out of the room by it.

For a moment, the world around them stopped turning. They all stood stunned, looking at the bloodied heap hanging from a chain attached to the door. The only sound in the room was the sickening gargles of a strangled man struggling to breathe.

"D-Dazai-san!" Atsushi bellowed. He was the first to move and threw himself to his knees in front of his broken mentor. Also breaking out of her stupor was Yosano, who quickly followed.

"Dazai? Dazai-san, can you hear me? Answer me, _ please! _" Atsushi begged frantically, teary-eyed and fidgety before Yosano gently lead him to the side so she could access Dazai better. The first thing she did, was to check for a pulse, frowning when it was slow and weak.

"Don't just stand there! Go get me some tools! We need to get him down, it's blocking his airways! And somebody needs to call an ambulance!"

Kenji and Tanizaki ran back to where they had come from to search, while Kano yelled directions to where he thought there might be some utensils, and informed them that he would call the military hospital since they were the only ones allowed to enter the premises.

Fukuzawa came down to kneel beside Yosano, while keeping a steadying arm around Atsushi who buried his face into the creak of his chest- unable to care about personal boundaries, or simply just craving the support too much. The doctor kept checking Dazai over with a horrified expression as more and more hideous and critical injuries were discovered. Kunikida was feebly trying to produce _ some _kind of tool that didn't dissolve between his fingers the moment they touched the chain that was attached to Dazai.

Fukuzawa did a quick count of his subordinates, making sure that they were all doing what they could for Dazai when he realized that he couldn't see Ranpo. "Call for me if I'm needed," he said softly to Yosano, hugging Atsushi a little closer before releasing him and resting a warm and reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly as he got up to go look for their missing comrade.

As expected, he didn't need to go far. Ranpo had never been good at hiding, mostly because he would lose track of where he was so easily, which resulted in a slight fear of wandering too far off. Already in the next room, he saw the back of the genius detective turned towards him. Fukuzawa advanced swiftly.

"Ranpo-kun, what are you doing-"

As Fukuzawa was about to reach out and touch Ranpo, he realized how much his shoulders shook. Urgently, the older man turned Ranpo around and caught him in a firm grip.

Tears ran from his emerald green eyes and trickled down his chin while he hicked and shook, sobbing and clawing at the sleeves of Fukuzawa's cloak, nestling the wide sheaths of fabric to his face and wiping his tears in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. Blurry eyes looked up at the man who was basically his dad, distraught and heartbroken and hopeless.

Fukuzawa gently removed his sleeve from the feeble fingers and gathered the short man-child into his arms and hugged him tightly against his chest. In the comfort of his strong arms, he let Ranpo get it all out of his system without asking any questions. Not until the 26-year-old had finally calmed down a bit.

"I- I- I didn't see this coming," he cried inconsolably and shot a quick glance towards the other room. "I didn't expect this- didn't think… I didn't think it would be that _ bad-" _ His voice broke as a new wave of grief enveloped him, but this time, he forced it back. "We should have gotten here sooner, should have… should've realized our mistake! We didn't _look everywhere! _ And now… did you _see him? _ He looks like a bloody _ bag _ of _ broken bones!" _

Fukuzawa's stoic, steel-grey eyes looked at the boy wistfully. He felt the exact same way, but it was his job to be a reassuring presence. _ Especially _for Ranpo, because that went deeper than most things in the agency director's life. Eventually, he sighed.

"I know."

Ranpo blinked rapidly, tears still escaping at every flicker.

"I truly, _ truly _do, Ranpo-kun. But we're here now _ . _ We weren't yesterday, last week or even six months ago. But we are _now. _ So, _ now _we need to do whatever we can to make sure that Dazai will be okay, right?"

Ranpo kept staring and his lips started moving before he was able to respond. "R… right."

"Good. I want you to go upstairs and guide the ambulance down here once they arrive, okay?"

This time, Ranpo really just glared. Nearly a bit exasperated. "Well…"

"_ Or," _Fukuzawa hurriedly corrected himself, "...go back inside and see if Yosano needs a hand, and I'll send Kano up to greet the ambulance."

"Good decision, sir."

Moments after they returned into the gruesome sight in the other room, Kano went up to meet the helicopter that had come to bring Dazai to the hospital. Kenji and Tanizaki had returned with an entire toolbox and had finally been successful in cutting Dazai down.

He now laid motionlessly on the floor, with Tanizaki's red hoody under his head and broken limbs twisted in places all except for the right way around. His upper body was covered in painful-looking marks, nearly hidden behind a thick layer of dried blood. Both of his eyes were swelled completely shut and weak breaths moved his uncovered and horribly scarred abdomen, ripping and shuddering bearly, painfully, in and out of his emaciated body.

"What's your assessment?" Fukuzawa asked Yosano calmly. Her face and gloved hands were already covered in blood that could be none other than Dazai's when she looked back at her boss with a worried frown.

"As long as the fucking ambulance arrives soon," she sneered, realizing her brisk tone, releasing her shoulders and inhaled deeply and let it out. "...I think he's going to make it."

The sounds of a gurney and several footsteps running towards them started echoing through the room. Ranpo took a couple of steps forward and watched Dazai hopefully. The tiny rise and fall of his chest, the nearly invisible twitch of his eyebrows. "Say… Please say that again, Yosano-sensei."

The young doctor seemed confused for a moment and tried to figure out what Ranpo was looking at.

A thin, bearly recognizable strip of a deep brown orb peeked out between swollen purple eyelids, and her hands shot up to cover her mouth for a moment. The melodic giggle that followed after seemed almost soft, and so much unlike her.

"Ranpo- _ he's going to make it."_

* * *

**I did say I was going to make a lot of progress in the plot in this chapter! And I also realized that writing the chapters with real story-development is really hard. I'm honestly not sure yet how I feel about it. But I know this chapter was needed to tell the story I had come up with.**

**Kano, the OC character was a surprise for me too. But I kinda liked him. I kinda envisioned a more rugged, G.I Joe version of Iruka from Naruto. He probably won't be in the rest of the story though- unless there's a popular demand (which it rarely is for OC characters).**

**This story will continue for another two or three prompts I think. Those will not have the same pace as this one though, which, honestly, I'm much more comfortable with writing. I still really hope you liked it!**

**Dazai is finally safe, yay!**


	20. Laced Drink

**Whumptober 2019 #21: Laced Drink **

**Summary: Another one of those days. Weeks. Years. **

**I wrote this in a few minutes. I'm sorry that it's so short but I was going to make it part of something else, and then I didn't. It's a stand-alone from the "several-prompts" story for Whumptober that I've been working on, which will continue next time!**

* * *

A bottle chimed as it knocked against the others under the kitchen sink. Dazai looked emotionless at the quickly filling cabinet. He needed to take them to a recycle bin soon, but the will was never quite there. Also, it was embarrassing. It felt like people would look and judge him for having accumulated this amount of bottles before throwing them away in the first place. As if they knew how many (or few) days it had taken him to get through that amount of bottles.

So, he closed the cabinet again, hiding the problem for a different day. Maybe tomorrow. It was supposed to be sunny then. He might actually feel like going for a walk. Except… the sun meant more people outside. Today was probably better. It was raining cats and dogs, and according to the weather forecast, it would pick up during the night and turn into a small storm.

He stood and looked out the window for a moment. At the dim skies and grey streets, covered in fallen leaves and large oil-stained puddles. The wind sighing its exasperation with him, howling menacingly through the creeks under the windows. The thought of going outside was untempting, but getting inside and coiling in under his blanket after changing out of wet clothes, with a bottle of sake and a sodoku puzzle was pleasant.

But he really didn't want to go out. Just to put a pair of pants on felt like a day's work. There was also the dreaded possibility that he would meet one of his colleagues at the agency out there. The last thing he wanted was questions about where he had been the last week.

_At home, drinking. _

He had made a point of keeping his door locked and lights out. He slept during the day and drank his way through the night. His cellphone was off, the anxiety of missed calls and messages piling up being too much to bear.

No. Osamu Dazai didn't exist today. He didn't exist yesterday and not the day before, not the week before and probably wouldn't for another one. At some point, they would come looking for him. They already had, kinda. Knocks on his door would wake him up during the day, or remind him that it was time to go to bed in the morning.

These were the times Dazai hated that he had people caring for him. People who worried and wanted to help. Dazai didn't want it, he just wanted to deal with shit his own self-destructive way. He knew it was unhealthy and he knew what the alcohol did to his mind coming both in and out, but he was unable to care.

Being sober hurt too much. Hurt worse than the hangover in the morning, even if each and every time he woke up with a sore neck and a throbbing head, nauseous and dizzy, he promised himself that he'd cut down. That he was going to tell someone, who he could call whenever the urge became too much and talk him out of it. Just taking the damn sleeping pills Yosano had prescribed to him, that made him feel giggly and weird _(which was sure to make him addicted to them and have yet another problem to get rid of)_ and go to sleep, instead of sitting in his bed and staring aimlessly through the wall- wanting and longing for the small increase of endorphins that would rush through him once he'd gotten a little bit of a buzz.

Yearning for the small smile that would tug at his lips when the floor became unsteady and colors turned a little brighter.

_Why couldn't he feel like that sober? _

_Why did being sober not seem to bother anyone else, while he would feel empty and restless and like his existence was nothing more than meaningless?_

He hadn't even realized that he was standing with another bottle of Genshu in his hand. It had a high percentage of alcohol, so maybe just one would do for tonight. As he had made a habit of, he didn't get a cup. He was too tired to do the dishes anyway. Instead, he threw one last glance to the cupboard that held his secrets, shrugged his shoulders, and decided to drink until he forgot about it.


	21. Hallucination (part 6 of Asphyxiation)

**I have this thing that I really wanna do, and I was wondering if someone would want to participate.**

**I'm writing a lot of whumpy Dazai fics lately, and the reason I write them is that I wanna read them. So I was wondering if anybody would want to write a Dazai Whump fic for me based on my work, and I'll write a Dazai Whump fic based on your work in return? And also, if you haven't written anything but would still like to give this a go, I'd still be happy to write a fic in return, if you'll send me a few key-words (and if you're an artist I would happily trade works too- but I'll spear you all my chicken-scratches and write something of course).**

**I also just recently made a twitter account. I don't really know how to use it, cause I'm old AF (not really but kinda), but it's there! So please follow me for updates on the progress of my stories and… I don't know, other stuff. Possibly. Probably. MissTinfoilHat is the name, of course. Give me a follow! (I still have yet to post anything, cause I'm not going to talk to myself in there, baha).**

**I'm also available for private messaging on tumblr, and discord (#5905) all under the username of MissTinfoilHat. (This also applies for fanfic requests).**

**This basically means that I'm up for writing anything whumpy Dazai with or without return- but I thought it might be fun!**

* * *

I always forget to thank everyone in the comments! It just feels a bit strange to me to answer in private messages, but maybe I should? I do read all your comments and get really happy and inspired by them. The lack of response is not because I don't care, it's just that I'm never sure just how to go about that. So, just know that I see each and every one of you and appreciate you immensely.

Oh, and also, if the spacing is weird, I'm really sorry. I post my stories on A03 and tumblr as well, and all of the different sites copies a bit differently, and I just can't be bothered to edit this text three separate times.

Okay, I'm done babbling.

* * *

Day 22: Hallucination (part 6 of Asphyxiation)

On the way to the hospital, Dazai's state was steadily declining. He had been on a downward spiral ever since they had found him, which made Yosano, who had been allowed in the helicopter because of her medical expertise, ecstatic that they had found him when they did. Only a few days _ (if not hours) _ later, and they would have taken a corpse home.

This was only solidified when only thirty minutes after the rescue, his heart stopped for nearly four agonizing minutes. He had been successfully given CPR by the medics, but he had stopped breathing and had been unable to breathe by himself every since.

Now, five days later in the local hospital, he still laid lifeless in bed, nearly transparent against the white bedspread and swallowed whole by wires, tubes, and machines. Each beep from the heart monitor buried itself deeper into the solemn atmosphere where the entirety of the Armed Detective Agency had set camp.

The hospital staff's fruitless attempts of getting them to leave went on deaf ears. Even Fukuzawa had turned his most defiant expression on as the head nurse told him on the second day that they had overstayed the visiting hours two times over, and refused to grant the accusations with so much as a grunt.

Dazai had been missing for six months and they still had yet to apprehend Dan Saito or any of the men responsible for his captivity. They weren't going to let Dazai out of their sight until they knew he was safe beyond absolutely any doubt.

Especially when Dazai had yet to wake up and couldn't protect himself.

The mood inside the crowded hospital room was heavy and intense. Each cough, deep exhales of air or noise of a stomach murmuring, sliced through the silence like a knife, and each jostle of fabric made everyone cast anxious glances towards the sleeping form on the bed.

But there was no movement. The steady beeping of the monitor kept echoing in rhythmic beats, and the shallow sigh from the ventilator was the only heart-wrenching noise that dared interrupt it.

Atsushi had taken a seat next to the bed. His fingers itched to catch one of the bandaged, emaciated hands laying unmoving at Dazai's sides in his, but he couldn't make himself do it.

Dazai looked so frail laying there, black and blue from bruises and scattered with stitches and bandages over burns and cuts and broken bones that were sure to leave him with even _ more _ scars _ (he already had so many- so unbelievably impossibly tragically frightfully many) _ and he was afraid he'd break him if he wasn't careful enough. The sharp-witted, blazè and mysterious detective was reduced to the most literal illustration of an empty shell that Atsushi thought he could imagine- and it _ hurt _.

The only thing keeping Atsushi from crawling into bed next to his mentor and cling onto him, was Yosano reminding them all about how bad of a shape Dazai's immune system was in, and they had all taken to wear surgical masks while inside the room. There was no point risking infection in addition to the frail state he was already in.

Each centimeter between Dazai and him nearly hurt, and it felt as if he couldn't get close enough- like he wanted to crawl under Dazai's skin and _ stay _ there forever to make sure that he would never ever leave his side ever again! Because Atsushi couldn't make it without Dazai. He hadn't fully realized it before he'd been gone, and maybe the fact that he had been away- _ missing- maybe dead- _ for such a long time made it so much clearer- but he _ knew _. He couldn't do it without him.

What "it" meant didn't mean anything- he didn't _ care _ . It was whatever. Because Dazai was the perfect mix between everything. A brother, friend, maybe even a father-figure. _ Now, Atsushi wasn't really sure what a "father-figure" was meant to be, but whatever it was, he had decided it was Dazai. _

_ ...you were supposed to cry when one's parent died, right? _Well, he was done crying now. Because Dazai wasn't dead, and he wasn't going anywhere. Not now, or ever again.

Finally, he settled with resting his head on the mattress, watching the IV line that pumped pain relievers into Dazai's body, wishing there was something he could do as well to soothe the pain away.

* * *

It was in the middle of the night on the seventh day that strangled chokes startled Yosano awake.

At first, she shrugged it off as another wishful dream about her coworker waking up and all of this being over, but as the beeping of the monitor grew more urgent and footsteps gathered inside the room, she tore herself fully awake.

Quickly, she scanned the room; her coworkers were stirring slowly at the mattresses laid down on the floor for them to sleep on, all except Kunikida. He was standing with his head bowed and hand covering his mouth in a corner of the room, watching the numerous nurses hurdling around Dazai's bed.

_ Oh, God. Had his heart stopped again during the night? Were they performing CPR? She couldn't see! What the hell was going on?! _

She staggered to her feet and huddled over to where Kunikida was standing, urgency and alarm written on her features.

"I think he's waking up," he said darkly, muted behind his hand.

"What?" she burst out in disbelief, trying yet again to make out what was going on behind the medical personnel with the new perspective, standing at the tip of her toes.

"I woke up to him nearly choking. I tried to calm him down, but the breathing tube must have made him panic. He was trying to pull it out," Kunikida explained, exhaling heavily and changing his stance back and forth restlessly. "It didn't look like he could see me at all."

He was clearly shaken, and Yosano knew what was raging inside him all too well; she had seen her fair share of torture victims over the years and it never got any easier. Witnessing their disbelief of being freed, not daring to believe it or simply being unable to comprehend it was scary and heartbreaking.

Still, it seemed somewhat different when it was happening with Dazai. He always seemed so carefree and unfazed by the darkness in the world. Things that made the rest of them shudder and feel uneasy, scared, even. They had both grown up in the darkest shadows of the underground and getting under their skin took more than most. Their shell was thicker. _ Breaking them, was harder. _

Even as his own worst enemy _ (which was saying something in a world where Fydor Dostoyevski walked free) _even Dazai couldn't truly break Dazai. He could only scratch the surface.

But this Dan Saito, he seemed to have come pretty damn close. Even Mori's toxic influence hadn't been that damaging on him. From what she had heard, wherever Dazai had come from before the Port Mafia got their grimy fingers on him, had laid a pretty solid foundation for whatever fucked up plans Mori had for him at the time.

She only wished he knew how far he'd come from _ that. _ Whatever Dazai was now, it was so much stronger than what he had been- stronger than the _ demon prodigy. _

Luckily for Yosano, her ability made sure that she was treated nicely during her short time as a mafioso- to the extent that was possible. They _ needed _ her and her ability, in a different way then they needed Dazai. There had been boys and girls _ before _ Dazai… Boys and girls that didn't make it. She had been there. She had seen it- _ them. _

No matter how the past had befallen, she had seen the compassion and kindness in Dazai's heart _ (a heart he might not even know he possessed, but that only made it all that more clear to her), _and she also knew that while in his imprisonment, Dazai had probably endured all of this torture essentially because he thought he deserved it, just like he had done in the Port Mafia.

Something that, even if he'd never spoken sincerely about it, she knew he still struggled with, because he thought he was a bad person and deserved any lash, punch, slice, bullet or hit thrown his way.

What these people had done to Dazai could quite possibly be much more damaging than the rest of the Agency could understand, and she wasn't ready to explain. She just needed him to survive this, and then, if he did, they would take it from there.

They had to endure his recovery, his way back, together. He sure as _ fuck _wasn't going to make it alone.

The asphyxiated struggle behind the medical personnel seemed to pick up and sounded violent and painful. Bandaged arms were flailing, fighting anything within reach and a broken voice wheezed desperate incomprehensible sounds.

Finally, Yosano was unable to stand back and watch the struggle anymore, and she elbowed her way through the crowd.

Dazai's eyes were wide and panicked- unseeing and wild. His arms were clawing at the tube stabbed down his throat, trying to pull it out- even with the huge cast on his newly surgically repaired arm, which had to be immensely painful. The nurses were attempting to tell him to relax- but he wasn't listening; too embedded in his trauma to see anything but horror and his torturers.

Yosano pushed them all back, ignoring Dazai's arms trying to tug at the tunnel and focused on looking deep into cocoa eyes, repeating her calming and soft words again and again, "It's okay. You're safe. It's okay."

His hands slowed down carefully, hesitant, as his eyebrows seemed to indicate that he was recognizing her- yet, reluctant to truly believe.

"Leave the tube, _ please. _ It's for your own good. It helps you _ breathe." _

Dazai's eyebrows curved, his hands pausing close to the endotracheal pushing air into his lungs- Yosano knew it felt painful, but he couldn't remove it himself- that would end in disaster.

"You need to let the nurses remove it, okay? I know it's uncomfortable, but it's going to get better if you let them."

Dazai's stretched eyes didn't recline, but he did calm down. He even kept eye contact with Yosano as the nurses removed the breathing tube and replaced it with an oxygen mask. It seemed to bother him a little, as he shrugged his head mindlessly and tried to slide it off against his shoulder, but it couldn't be nearly as bad as the tube. Yosano adjusted the mask, centering it back onto his face and rested a gentle, ungloved hand on his head, pushing his bangs back affectionately and shook her head with a half-hearted smile.

At this point, the rest of the Agency were fully awake and wary, paying attention to each and every movement. Yosano paid them no heave. She was going to guide Dazai back to the now- because she could see it in his eyes; _ he was awake but not _ ** _there._ ** She knew he was awake, knew he recognized her, but he had _ no idea what was going on. _

Dazai's frightful gaze hesitantly broke contact with her, peering around the room cautiously. Yosano's hands instinctively reach around him, grabbing his face gently and instructed back him towards her.

"Just breathe, okay? You're safe. So, the only thing you need to focus on is breathing. In and out, yeah?"

Dazai seemed to follow her for a moment before he once again got distracted by nothing and his eyes went darting through the room again. Yosano waved a hand in front of him to catch his attention.

"Okay?" she asked again, this time expecting a reply. Satisfied with a faint nod, she mirrored his motion, nodding along in his rhythm, nearly chuckling in relief.

"Okay… Okay. That's good, just… just keep breathing with me and let the nurses do their work, okay?"

He titled his head once, bloodshot eyes watching attentively.

Yosano smiled in relief- she couldn't help herself. She usually kept from showing too much optimism in any medical emergency she couldn't fix with her ability, but then again… she really hadn't ever been in a situation _quite like this _and Dazai seemed to _respond _and it felt like _everything _was settling into _(nearly) _the right place around them. Most importantly to Dazai.

Then it slowly dawned upon her; Dazai was _ awake _ . Dazai was awake and alive and responding and she had no idea what to do next. He was just looking at her with confused, tired eyes, ignoring the nurses and everything that was going on around them; any needle poking at him, questions being asked or lights being shone in his eyes. He was only looking at _ her _as his one and only lifeline.

The faint sparkle in his eyes was undeniable. He could _see _her and he had _hope, _but didn't dare to fully give in to it. She could only imagine. He had probably hoped so many times, and was presumably terrified that this was nothing more than another false hope created by his mind- _but just maybe, this seemed a little bit different; just a little bit brighter no matter _**_how _**_surrealistic._

She had no idea how she was going to prove to him that this time, his rescue was _ real. _ He would learn it with time, _ assuming he had time, _ but she wanted to prove it as immediately as possible. Because they needed his stubbornness and defiance right now to work _ for _ them and not against them. Even if he was in safety, he still needed to _ fight. _He couldn't breathe on his own, and he was severely prone to infections.

As suicidal as Dazai had been _ before, _she could only imagine how little he was willing to fight to survive the hell he had been in these last six months.

She shook herself out of her train of thoughts. If she was going to get Dazai back to the now, she had to be there herself. Careful not to jostle him, she slid onto his cot, her hand still resting atop of the oxygen mask. Her lavender eyes didn't waver from his umber, and she kept a soft expression, breathing with him until he was unable to keep his eyes open anymore, and he fell back into a fitful, yet probably the most comfortable slumber he had had, in months.

* * *

_ Dazai was sure he had seen Yosano the last time he was awake, even felt her hands on his face, through his hair... But that couldn't be. He was at the hospital wing at the military base, being force-fed again. He even had the tube down his throat. If she was truly there, she would have helped him, wouldn't she? Instead, she had kept him from fighting as the staff kept on. He didn't want the slob they forced into him. It made him feel so sick and if they were going to keep him from dying, he didn't want to be throwing up in addition to his already miserable reality. _

_ Admittedly, he didn't feel particularly sick right now. And the device was out, so they had to be done. There could be a chance that... _

_ No. He couldn't afford to hope anymore. As long as he was still alive, helpless and hopeless and absolutely destroyed, the only thing he could really do for himself was to get the most relief from the insufferable pain as he could. While the moments of delirium were the happiest times he had in this pandemonium, coming back out of it was far too painful for it to be worth it. _

_ And yet, he couldn't get how real it all had seemed out of his mind. Maybe he could try to wake up again, just… to check. This time, he'd look _ really hard _ to make _ absolutely sure _ it was or wasn't her- it might be a new doctor after all. He had quite possibly killed the last one. _

_ Fuck. _

_ Okay, here it goes._

* * *

**Aaaand I'm still shiet on ending chapters. But I still hope you liked it!**


	22. Broken Voice (pt 6 of asphyxiation)

As Dazai's vision started to clear, he instantly made two observations. The first one was that the ceiling was whiter than the last time he had woken up at the medical wing of the military facility. It lacked the dried scatters of blood and whatever other bodily fluids that had exploded inside that dismal room and left large splatters all over the walls, roof, and floors. He had watched those stains enough times to place where each and every one of them was supposed to be, and also, he was most definitely the origin of at least half of it.

His second observation was that the lights were too bright and hurt his eyes. Dazai quickly closed them again and turned his head to try and bury his face into the pillow away from it. But his sore neck wouldn't allow such an extensive movement, so he was left whining lightly while pinching his eyes tightly shut.

"Can someone dim the lights?" he heard the alto voice, supposedly and hopefully Yosano's, call softly, and within seconds the lights were shut completely. The dusky light from the murky evening sky was the only source left to illuminate the wistful room.

"Is this better?" a voice responded. Its boyish tone and unfaltering chipperness, albeit a bit more subdued than usual, made him want to believe that it actually was Kenji. He wanted to believe it _ so badly. _

Slow and reluctant, he opened his left eye first. It still hurt a little. Without having seen himself, he knew both of his eyes were badly bruised. His right eye followed shortly, as if his left one needed to make sure that it was safe first. The little amount of sight he had left in it after all those years of botched experiments in the Port Mafia had been taken from him early in his captivity, and all the years of being submitted to Mori's torturous procedures had left it immensely sensitive towards lights.

Even if not unexpected, Dazai startled when the massive jolt of pain staggered through his head. The sheer amount of pure, concentrated agony cut through his cornea like a steak knife, even after the lights had been turned off. He couldn't remember it ever being so bad.

Once again he tried to move his arms, this time to cover his eyes, but they fell back to his sides, heavy like lead.

"Dazai? What's wrong?" the voice said again, and he wanted to yell at her to go away- there was _ no way _ it was Yosano. It was his mind playing tricks on him again. It _ had to be _ . They had injected his eye with something, _ just like Mori did, he was sure of it! _ What had they come up with this time? Had they joined forces? _ The Port Mafia would just love to get their hands on him in this state; helpless and broken and ready to be molded back into the monster he always was meant to be. _

_ Nothing ever changes. Not when you're the infamous Osamu Dazai. It was karma. He still hadn't finished paying off his debts and he had always known that one day, the devil would come back to claim it personally. _

_ Dazai was supposedly his successor after all. _

"Goddammit, Dazai! Stop it!"

Suddenly, he felt the presence of two people on each side of his bed. They were holding him down, grabbing at him and pulling- pulling his hands away from his face.

He didn't realize that he had gotten them to move again.

Both of his arms were forced back to the mattress and held down firmly. Dazai's body ached and the jostling made new pains appear. Instinctively, he wanted to struggle, to free his arms and curl into a ball to protect his vitals- running was futile, he had been unable to walk his entire time there and the cracked bones had never been given time to heal before they were rebroken.

A surging sensation brewed inside his chest, a feeling he knew all too well. Something that, before the cell, had been a faint echo from his past. Muffled voices merged together and turned into urgent cries that felt like spikes and nails drilled into his eardrums. His breath was catching, the mask covering his face only adding to the claustrophobic feeling of being restrained.

_ Panic. _

_ Fullblown out of control panic. _

Dazai drew in a sharp breath to scream.

* * *

Yosano and Kunikida latched onto Dazai's arms and bent them away from his face. Small trickles of blood had already started to drip down his cheeks from the numerous deep claw marks he had dug around his eyes. How the hell he had been able to scrape himself up so good without any fingernails and with all his fingertips bandaged was something Kunikida didn't even want think about.

_ The pure, determent will of desperation. It was the only answer. _

The bespectacled man could feel Dazai's body go rigid under him, but he couldn't let go. The last thing any of them needed was for Dazai to scratch his eyes out in addition to all of this. So he held on, nearly laying his body on top of the broken man to subdue his frantic and terrified spasms.

All they needed was to gain his attention back. Make him talk to them, or at least _ listen. _Kunikia wasn't sure what the hell there was to say, but it was the only plan they'd been able to come up with on the spot.

Dazai had been able to shrug off the oxygen mask, and he was gasping labouredly for air. Yosano let go of one of her hands to place it back when a shrilling, soundless shriek broke through wrecked lungs. The force and pain from the exertion made Dazai's form coil. His eyes shot open, fear and confusion evident in the sunken, brown eyes.

Behind them, Kunikida heard the door open and a nurse saying something about sedatives. Yosano screamed at her to shut the hell up and get the fuck out. Kunikida admittedly agreed, all though he might have selected a different phrasing.

They had talked about it when Dazai was sleeping. Yosano said they should avoid drugging him as much as possible. The test results showed that he had excessive amounts of an unknown substance in his system. It seemed to be some sort of tranquilizer, which likely was made from the scientists' own formula. They had no way of knowing how Dazai would react to being taken off it so abruptly, but what they did know, was that he had likely been under the influence of it for the majority of these six months, and hopefully being cut off would change something in his brain chemistry that would make it easier to coax him back to reality when he fell out of it.

Yosano and Kunikida locked eyes for a second, then looked down at Dazai.

His eyes were still wide, orbs unusually small and staring blindly into a blank space. A quick glance behind them revealed that the rest of the agency looked as lost and astounded as they probably did.

Yosano was about to put the oxygen mask back on, but she paused her action when she realized that Dazai's lips were moving.

"What's going on-" Tanizaki started to ask but Yosano quickly hushed him.

Leaving the mask resting on Dazai's chin, she leaned down to listen. His voice was completely gone, the only sound emitting from him a hoarse and strangled whisper that she had to hold her breath to hear.

The room was airily quiet for a moment before she raised her head a little.

"Oh, honey," she purred sadly, leaning back up and rested a hand on Dazai's bandaged forehead and soothed his bangs back while situating the mask back over his mouth.

Kunikida gave her a questioning frown, but she only shook her head lightly and kept caressing the feverish forehead.

Dazai was laying perfectly still now, and Kunikida felt comfortable enough to slide back off the bed. As he turned his back to retreat, he felt something delicate brush weakly against his wrist. Tilting his head, he recognized a badly burnt, bandaged hand reaching feebly over the sheets in his direction.

Almost disbelieving, Kunikida followed the emaciated arm inch by inch, until he met two dull eyes with a deep worry knitted between them. The frail fingers scratched at the blanket, and Kunikida shifted his gaze between the pleading hand and the anxious gaze.

Dazai's jaw was moving, saying something inaudible under the mask. However, Kunikida didn't need to hear what his partner was saying to know what he wanted. Straightening his shirt, Kunikida sat back down on the bed and clutched Dazai's hand gently. The wrist was so frightfully thin that he was afraid it might break if he held it too tight.

Looking to Dazai's eyes for confirmation, they gave him just that. The frightful and wild expression was gone, replaced by warm, shimmery and pure awe.

A tight knot twisted inside of Kunikida's chest and he had to take a deep intake before his voice felt sturdy enough to say anything without shattering along with his rigor. The carefully chosen words he had planned to say when they finally found him_ (he had even written and rewritten them several times in his Ideal) _ were long gone and forgotten. The whole damn book was forgotten. None of it seemed important at this moment, because he couldn't even have imagined back then how amazing it would feel to have those dark brown eyes finally _ seeing _him again.

"Hey," he croaked, lowered his head and frowned. Squeezed the fragile hand. There were no words, no action, no nothing that could possibly express the cluster of emotions that raved inside him at that moment and it made him feel depleted, until, the hand in his squeezed back.

It was weak. So faint that Kunikida wondered if maybe he had only imagined it.

"H…" an ailing crackle whispered back. It was all he could muster, but Kunikida couldn't have felt more content. It was the closest thing to hearing his partner's voice- broken as it was- that he had been for six agonizingly long months.

"Everyone's here," Yosano joined in and shifted a little to give Dazai a better view to where the rest of their friends were awaiting frantically. Atsushi was lingering at the foot end of the bed, while Fukuzawa stood between Ranpo and Kenji, resting his large, sturdy hands protectively across their shoulders. The Tanizaki siblings and Kyouka were huddled under a blanket, frosty from sleepiness.

Dazai huffed out a shaky breath. He wanted to talk, say something. Ask a million questions and tell them everything he had learned about Niko's death. But all he could get out was a struggled wheeze which left him breathless and lightheaded. It hurt as if his lungs were ready to burst and the walls in his throat bleed and swell shut. If it hadn't been for the mask, steadily pushing oxygen into his lungs, he was sure he would have hicked and choked on his own faint breaths.

Yosano frowned at the noise that Dazai's battered throat was emitting, internally reminding herself to figure out what his CT scans said. The hospital hadn't gone into too much detail concerning his injuries, except for the most obvious ones like the proximal humerus fracture in his arm, the complex hip break, and the crushed knees that all had required surgery.

There were also the horrible rope burns and abrasions around his neck, wrists and legs, the electric burns and infected stab wounds all over his meager form, only adding to the extensive collection already littering his body.

At least now nobody would be asking about his bandages anymore.

The rest of the agency was talking to Dazai now. Nobody got too close to the bed, settling with only lingering in the proximity of his half-lidded vision, as to not overwhelm him by crowding him.

Dazai listened intently to everyone's chatter. Taking in their voices, their tones and their faces, so undeniably beautiful that he sometimes forgot to be wary in case it was all just another hallucination. Sometimes, he would try to reply, but he was left coughing weakly every time, unable to put enough strength into each hack to truly make the pricking go away. It hurt his chest and his coworker's faces grimaced with concern each time, but he couldn't even tell them he was okay.

Instead, he smiled. He smiled, even if he didn't mean it. Even if he didn't want to, but this was what he did. Smiled when he hurt the most. When his heart was breaking and threatening to escape out of his chest to a less hostile habitat. The feign motion made him feel physically ill. The slight lift to his cheeks, the strained muscles. So fucking useless.

He smiled, even when he knew they couldn't see it behind the mask. Such irony.

* * *

"We need to move back to the agency."

Kunikida stood with his arms crossed, averting the rubine red gaze of their dark-haired doctor.

"We can't do that. Dazai just woke up. If we're not here to coax him back to reality when his mind wanders back, who knows what he'll do," Yosano retorted dryly. Still, she couldn't hide the dangerous glare in her eyes. They had gotten his body back, but it would take time to get his mind back as well. All these strangers in white coats carrying medical equipment would remind Dazai too much of the facility. The hospital staff could be anyone to him.

As much as she hated it, she was more worried about the staff's safety than Dazai's in such a scenario.

"I know you mean well, but we can't waste our time here anymore," Kunikida muttered harshly.

"Waste- waste our time? Are you even hearing yourself? How dare you?" Yosano spat. She clenched her fists and took a few steps closer, scowling into unwavering hazel orbs. Kunikida could go wherever he goddamn well pleased, but if he tried to huddle anyone out who wanted to be there for Dazai, she'd get her cleaver and _ consider _healing him afterward.

"You're misunderstanding. We just… Now that we have him back, we need to get back to work." Kunikida's voice was low, not able nor trying to hide the shame he felt as he uttered those words. Yosano simply gawked at him. She couldn't believe his nerves.

Bracing herself for a short moment, she finally spoke again, "Did you not just witness the same thing as the rest of us? Dazai is _ terrified. _He's experienced unthinkable torture for half a year! We can't just leave him here. He needs us!"

Their eyes connected for a long time. She tried to pierce a hole through that stupidly idealistic exterior. The unfaltering rationality, hoping to make space for just a slither of _"senseless", _human compassion.

"Listen, Yosano…" Kunikida broke, rubbing his neck. He looked at her once before downcasting his attention to the floor. Why did she have to make this so difficult?

"We… we decided not to charge the Saito family," he finally admitted. "We can't make them pay for this. It would be selfish and heartless. We got our coworker back, but they only got a broken family. We couldn't even give them any answers to what happened to Niko-chan. I want to be here and take care of Dazai as much as anyone, but we can't afford to be inactive even a day longer. Everyone needs to work on cases if we're gonna keep the agency from closing down, not to mention pay Dazai's medical bills."

Yosano squinted up at him.

"Is it really that bad?" she asked quietly. Kunikida offered a grim nod and grit his teeth. Everyone knew they were struggling, but only Fukuzawa and himself truly knew how deep it went.

"Fukuzawa's been funding us out of his own pocket for the past month," he revealed grudgingly.

Yosano opened her mouth to speak, but a movement from behind interrupted her and made them turn towards it. Atsushi was standing in the doorway. His eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, and his mouth scrunched into a brooding grimace.

"Is the agency closing down?" he asked carefully. His voice was shaking, and he had to fight with his jaw to keep it from clattering his teeth together. "A-and what's going to happen to Dazai-san if we can't afford his treatment?"

Kunikida took his glasses off to rub his weary eyes, and Yosano sighed heavily and internally berated them both for not picking a more private spot for this conversation.

"He's going to be just fine Atsushi-kun, and of course not," Kunikida lied easily, albeit unconvincingly. "You don't have to worry about this."

Atsushi's eyebrows twitched as he scowled at the two older detectives. _ How stupid did they think he was? He had heard what they were talking about and they knew it! They _ ** _said_ ** _ that the agency was out of money and that they wouldn't be able to give Dazai all the medical care necessary to give him the best chances to really, wholly _ , _ come _ ** _back _ ** _ to them. _

_ Did it really have to come to this? Choosing between the two things most important to him? Either the agency would just cease to exist, or his mentor would deteriorate into a whirlpool of suffering and trauma, or maybe both. _

"Kunikida-kun is right," a deep voice resonated at the end of the corridor. All three agents turned around to see Fukuzawa, walking towards them in a resolute stride. Only when the large figure had walked all the way up to them, did he continue to speak, "It's not your job to worry about the agency's future, Atsushi-kun," he turned towards Kunikida and added, "neither is it yours. That responsibility falls entirely on me, and I will take care of it."

"May I offer a suggestion?" Yosano asked unwaveringly, and Fukuzawa granted her permission to speak with only a tilt of the head.

"I would like to continue Dazai-san's treatment at the infirmary as soon as possible. It will be more cost-efficient, and I personally think he will feel much safer in a familiar space."

Both Atsushi and Kunikida spun around, looking flabbergasted and slightly unnerved.

"Are you insane?" Kunikida spurted out, only to be shut up by Yosano's venomous stare. She turned her attention back to their director, waiting for his assessment.

"I will talk to the hospital," he said after a brief pause. "I won't let you work yourself to death by being the only one having the skill to take care of his medical needs."

"I'll be fine-"

"I said; _ I won't have it _. If we can arrange some kind of out-patient treatment plan with the hospital, we might be able to do it. For now, he'll be staying here. I want half of you to come back to the agency tomorrow, while the other half can stay here and we'll switch every few days."

Nobody said anything, but Fukuzawa didn't expect them to.

"Now, I have some business to take care of. Call me if anything changes."

Fukuzawa left them bickering amongst themselves. He for one was going to find a solution, even if it meant betraying himself, and possibly even more, Dazai.

* * *

The next day, they had started their gradual transition with Kunikida, Yosano, Tanizaki, and Atsushi back at the office. Not much work was being done, but it was still more than what it had been these last few months. At least now they were able to let go of the guilt they had all felt when doing anything not related to Dazai's disappearance. Actually, even if their concentration was rather low, it felt strangely comforting to slowly fall back into their routine, even if half of the office was absent. Dazai was still sleeping most of the time, and whenever he was awake, it only lasted a couple of minutes. Each time, he didn't seem to have much of a recollection of being conscious earlier, so the regret for not being there was easier to handle.

"Uh, guys?" Haruno's light voice called from behind her desk. Some shuffling was heard as she got up. Then, she disappeared into the hallway towards the infirmary for a moment, where three rapid knocks were placed on a heavy door. She returned into the office space with a brown envelope in her hands. Three pairs of tired eyes looked up from their laptops, and Yosano came strolling in, looking slightly miffed before settling at the edge of Kunikida's desk.

The brunette fidgeted a little before neatly placing the envelope onto Kunikida's desk.

"This just came in with a private messenger service. It was addressed to the agency, so I opened it," she stated, still seeming oddly nervous.

Kunikida raised his eyebrows at her and picked up the torn envelope. Gingerly, he slid the folded piece of paper out and started reading.

As his eyes darted back and forth trailing down the page, his eyes only grew wider and wider.

"What is it, Kunikida-san?" Tanizaki asked and got up from his desk, pulling at Atsushi's arm to come with.

"It's a check," Kunikida proclaimed numbly. He held the piece of paper up for Yosano to see before he added, "...and it's generous."

Yosano grabbed the paper and read it thoroughly. "It says it's for the six months of searching for Dazai," she said in astonishment.

"How much is it?" Atsushi asked tensely.

"It's... generous," Yosano confirmed dumbly. She gave Kunikida an urgent look and tucked the piece of paper into his front pocket. "You should give this to the director."

"W-who is it from?" Atsushi prodded, trying fruitlessly to get a glimpse of the note.

"It was anonymous," Kunikida explained before he picked the note back up, unfolded it and started skimming what it said out loud, "...I choose to stay anonymous because of my position...heard that the armed detective agency has been going through some hard times… economical challenges… I hope this is enough to keep the Armed Detective Agency from struggling too much and help keep life in that..."

Kunikida's brows arched and he adjusted his glasses, pulling the paper closer to his face.

"...why the hell did they call Dazai a damn mackerel?"

* * *

**I have this thing that I really wanna do, and I was wondering if someone would want to participate.**

**I'm writing a lot of whumpy Dazai fics lately, and the reason I write them is that I wanna read them. So I was wondering if anybody would want to write a Dazai Whump fic for me based on my work, and I'll write a Dazai Whump fic based on your work in return? And also, if you haven't written anything but would still like to give this a go, I'd still be happy to write a fic in return, if you'll send me a few key-words (and if you're an artist I would happily trade works too- but I'll spear you all my chicken-scratches and write something of course).**

**Please let me know in the comments!**

**I also just recently made a twitter account. I don't really know how to use it, cause I'm old AF (not really but kinda), but it's there! So please follow me for updates on the progress of my stories and… I don't know, other stuff. Possibly. Probably. MissTinfoilHat is the name. Give me a follow! (I still have yet to post anything, cause I'm not going to talk to myself in there, baha).**

**(If you really want to participate but think it's awkward to write anything about it in the comments, I'm also available for private messaging on tumblr, and discord (#5905) all under the username of MissTinfoilHat. (This also applies for fanfic requests).**

**This basically means that I'm up for writing anything whumpy Dazai with or without return- but I thought it might be fun!**


	23. Touch-Starved (part of asphyxiation)

**Chapter 8: #24 Touch-starved**

**Nanananananana I had a writer's block**

**At this point, I kinda just want to say f*** the prompts. Yet, there's something about this whole "following things through" thing, of which there has always been a distinct lack of in my life, that has made kind of a mental barrier that prevents me from doing that. So, until I have finished all of these goddamn prompts, I will not disregard them. This story will still get done in its own time. If it's not done when I run out of prompts, I'll just continue without them (or ask you guys to provide me with some, maybe?)**

**Heads up, there will be a stand-alone fic for Hidden Injury in the near future thank's to Raigingstillness who's a freaking prompt-machine. She's been feeding me with tons of awesome ideas, so I might write more of them with time!**

* * *

Dazai counted the tiles in the ceiling for what must have been the hundredth time in just a few hours. Visually, he could see that these tiles were larger and the room smaller than that of the military infirmary, thus logically, fewer tiles, but he had to make sure. Better safe than (so,_ so so so _unbelievably) sorry.

Two-hundred-and-fifty-six. Sixteen by sixteen. Fluorescent lights. No stains. No blood. Clean. _ Safe. _

He let out a shuddering breath which turned into a series of hectic and dry coughs. Quickly, he muffled them with his blanket and cast a worried glance towards the door, hoping it wouldn't open. This was the first night he had been left by himself but he knew that Atsushi, (_ probably- he really didn't know who had been stuck with the chore of babysitting him tonight) _, was lingering right behind it, ready to come to his rescue at the first sign of trouble.

Dazai didn't get why they even bothered. Surely they must have realized how destroyed he was by now _ (as if he wasn't damaged before) _ . There was no more use for him. It would be months until he would be able to walk again, if ever. He was practically a mute from being strangled repeatedly over such a long period of time, and he had already been half-blind before Dan Saito had taken him. They might never get _ him _back, or, the version of him they thought they knew and loved, but were so wrong about.

They had to understand that he was damaged goods. Or actually, damaged _ bads _seemed more accurate.

He readjusted the nose cannula that had replaced the oxygen mask yesterday. It always lingered annoyingly in his peripheral vision and if he didn't pay attention, it would startle him to a point of hyperventilating, which was just silly since it was an aid supposed to _ help _him breathe, not take his breath away.

With his less-injured arm, he tugged at the knitted light grey jacket Kyouka had presented him with one of the first few days in the hospital, wrapping it tightly around his sling and trying to button it up with one clumsy, trembling hand. The always serious girl had matter-of-factly stated that he was shaking all the time, and they had been unable to find an actual warm piece of clothing in his dorm, so she had no other choice than to knit one for him herself.

The gesture in itself was beautiful and heartwarming, but the implication made it go cold down his spine. Because as much as he had faith in the small girl, he knew she couldn't knit. The knotted mess of a scarf Atsushi still insisted on wearing every winter was evidence enough. Not to mention that there was no way she would have been able to knit a piece like this in the matter of a few days.

He knew someone who could, though. And she did too- and the fact that she had felt compelled to seek help from that woman made him feel sick and impossibly guilty. Guilty enough that he was tempted to slide out of the garment and be cold in favor of wearing it and be reminded of what he had made herself do.

But, the messy heap of too tight, too loose and dropped stitches at the hem of his sleeve made him reconsider. She must have tried so hard, and not feeling freezing all the time and having such soft and cozy fabric on his body made it a little bit easier to remember where he was, even with the neverending footsteps outside in the corridors, and the unyielding stench of blood, vomit, tears and all the other contradicting smells between life and death surrounding him all the time.

Dazai yawned sleepily, breath hitching a little at the height of the rising sensation. It felt strange to be so tired all the time. Before, he would go days on end, forgetting to sleep altogether. The concept of night and day had never really mattered to him and he wouldn't go to sleep until he was close to fainting. In return, once he did feel tired, he'd usually have to find the nearest place to lay down no matter where he was, unless he wanted to collapse on the floor. Luckily, if he wasn't in the dorms, he was almost exclusively at the office which had an absolutely adequate couch in the back. Or, he'd be at the cafè on the first floor. They never said anything except for when he was still sleeping when they were closing for the evening.

Now, he could go two, maybe three hours at most before his brain turned to mush and his eyes would droop, making it nearly impossible to get his eyelids to open again when he blinked. When unable to fix his gaze on anything, his surroundings tended to morph into whatever he didn't want to see, and his brain made him think of things or feel these feelings he didn't want at all.

Maybe that wasn't as far away from what it had been like before, but it happened so much more frequently now when he was unable to stay awake for more than a few hours at the time.

Sliding back under the extra blankets he had been given by the hospital, he relented and let himself drift back to sleep, yet again entering the depths of his own brewing insanity.

Sleeping was scary, even before. Osamu Dazai was known as the prodigal son of the devil himself, doomed to a life as a shadow walker. Someone so cruel, that most people who had heard about him thought he could be nothing but an urban legend; the boogeyman hiding in the closet, the unknown figure at the other end of your mirror, the one who should never have their name repeated three times in the darkness of your closed bathroom.

The funny thing was, that even if Dazai was inclined to believe every horrible thing he had heard about himself, he had always been afraid of the dark. Even as he emerged from it, clad in his black suit and heavy coat, smiling eerily at his target, he'd be terrified of looking back to the pitch-black behind him. Because he knew what lurked in the shadows. People like him did. People like him, Mori, their old boss, Fydor and… and Dan Saito.

Mori visited Dazai's dreams for the longest time. Before that, it had been the old boss. Now, it was Saito. But he didn't only keep to Dazai's dreams- it wasn't enough for him. He would appear every time he closed his eyes, every time he forgot to pay attention and anything that got caught in the tiny bit of peripheral vision he still had left.

And technically, Dazai was right to be wary. He knew that the ADA, the military and the police (and probably every special ability organization in Asia) were all searching for him and that he was unlikely to take the risk of coming back, but he _ could. _

Dan Saito could be anywhere, waiting to take Dazai back. Chain him down, burn, electrocute, cut, stab, starve, break and humiliate him. Torture and abuse him in ways only limited by the deranged scientist's imagination.

Pictures of his own mutilated limbs and disfigured flesh flickered through his mind for the next hours of sleep. Sometime during the night, he could hear someone entering the room and feel their unfamiliar presence, but the heavy drugs they kept him on made it impossible to stir fully awake. A new liquid was being pushed into his IV line, leaving a dull stinging feeling. Images of the doctor he might or might not have killed flashed into his memory, and he wondered if he was back.

Dazai wanted to see for himself- wanted to fight them off and prevent them from doing this to him, but as soon as the thought came, it escaped as a new wave of heaviness washed over him as the drug took effect and he felt himself being dragged deeper into the depts of the drug-induced slumber.

Forever went by, captured inside his own body. Trapped in the darkness, running blindly in the hopes of finding a door, a wall to put his back against or a tiny glimpse of light illuminating his surroundings- anything but this forever darkness that swallowed everything around him.

After running for another eternity; it might have been minutes, hours, days or years, the gloom seemed to turn into a hazy grey color.

_ Live your life in the light, _ Dazai thought with an abrupt sense of optimism. _ Oda is here. Oda-san is showing me where to go! _

The massive void of black suddenly lead him into a narrow hallway with a bright shining light in the end. Dazai picked up his speed, determined to get to it as quickly as he could. The walls were rushing past him and it went up up up to the surface until finally...

A loud crash knocked him back to reality.

Dazai threw himself up into a seated position, wild bruised eyes darting back and forth, finally finding the source of the ruckus.

A bowl laid shattered on the ground. Its contents spilled all over the floor. It smelled amazing. The sight made his senses sharpen-_ where was the rotten mush? Nothing alive seemed to be crawling around in the brown, fresh-smelling liquid. _

Before Dazai could gather himself, his survival-instinct took control of his body, and he darted out of bed. The IV tugged painfully as the tube snapped out of his wrist, and the stand toppled over behind him and clacked to the ground. The wire of the nose cannula burst and his breathing felt instantly more labored as his body hit the floor. Dazai let out a voiceless scream of pain as his muscles spasmed and he writhed in agony, but he staggered up and dragged himself over to the glass-filled meal on the floor.

With one hand he started to scoop up the burning hot liquid and slurped it down as quickly as he could before they could be taken away from him. Small shards of glass crunched between his teeth but if he didn't have time- he needed to eat and get his strength back- needed to eat it all before they could take it from him.

"D-Dazai-san?" A frail voice, frightfully small uttered close-by, catching his attention.

Dazai paused. That voice… Freezing his motion, a hand halfway to his mouth, Dazai looked up and into wide, flickering dual-colored orbs.

Atsushi was sprawled out on the floor much like himself, still clutching the tray that had held the bowl of soup that had been spilled. The boy looked achingly at his mentor, and Dazai slowly lowered his gaze back to his hand. A puddle of blood had accumulated and blended into the scorching broth in his grip from a cut across his palm. He blinked emptily at it.

Atsushi repeated his name, this time with a little more vigor and Dazai looked up again. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I tripped. I- I'm so clumsy, I'm sorry. I'll get somebody-" The teen scrambled to his feet and was nearly at the door when he stopped.

"Nnh-" The noise was garbled and weak, strangled and broken. Atsushi turned back around with a shocked expression and saw Dazai's trembling hand reach for him. Dark waves danced around his too-thin features as Dazai shook his head.

"I- but, I don't think I can do much to help with this, Dazai-san," Atsushi uttered helplessly, yet he couldn't make himself turn away. The number of times the boy had reached out for someone to hold his hand but being met with a cold shoulder instead had been many, but not a single one had been at the Agency.

Atsushi was also sure that no matter what had truly been done to Dazai while he'd been held captive, regardless of how gruesome or nightmarish it had been, a hand reaching out for comfort would not be a regular occurrence even on the darkest days to come.

Painstakingly slowly, Atsushi walked back over the floor, careful not to step on any broken glass and leaving an even bigger mess to clean up. Once he was close enough, he held his arm out to take Dazai's shaky hand in his, but the hand reached around and with a surprisingly slow grip, tugged Atsushi back down to the floor with him.

Glass ground and left ugly scrapes on the floor beneath Atsushi's knees and he felt them nick at the skin underneath the fabric of his trousers, but the young man was frozen still.

Dazai had laid his head on his lap, hand having shifted its grip from Atsushi's shirt, leaving a bright red handprint, and was instead grasping mindlessly at the neck of his hospital gown. The erratic hicks that had been his breathing had slowed down, but still groaned like the wind seeping through a glitch in the window frame.

But what truly terrified Atsushi, was the feverish pink that flushed Dazai's cheeks and how his eyes had narrowed, brimming with thick, salty tears pleading to be released.

Atsushi uttered a silent gasp, arms hovering over the trembling form curled on his lap, unsure of what to do for a moment. But, he quickly got a hold of himself and scooped Dazai up and held him tighter than he really dared to, afraid to hurt him more. As the cries grew in intensity however, Atsushi steadily realized that it might not actually be possible.

As Dazai slowly but surely started to still in his arms, Atsushi let go a little to peer down on how he was doing. Puffy eyelids had slid shut, and an even stream of ragged breath flowed in and out, brushing across Atsushi's own arm.

Atsushi gave the mop of unruly brown curls a quick and gentle kiss as he shifted and hoisted Dazai up in his arms and carefully laid him back on the bed.

The teen sat back and watched as a couple of aghast nurses started to clean up the mess they had made, as well as treating the new wounds on Dazai's arm, reattaching the IV line and replaced the nose cannula with another mask.

As calmness settled back over the room, Atsushi observed Dazai's chest move in reassuring breaths and wondered just how much abuse one person could take before their body simply refused to knit itself back together again.


	24. Bound (part of Ashyxiation

**I think I might have done Bound already. I don't know. But... this is Bound. again. maybe. probably. I'm hungry.**

**I'm so sorry for being horrible at updating and answering comments. There's this long list of reasons which I will spare you for- just know that it's not that I don't care. It's purely circumstantial.**

* * *

A couple of knocks at the infirmary door made Yosano look up from her work. She wondered absently who it could be- without Dazai amongst them and no active missions ongoing, she really wasn't expecting anyone to need her aid.

"Come on in," she called, deciding that a potential stomach ache was not worth bothering to get up for. Carefully, the door slid open and Atsushi peeked his head in.

"Yosano-sensei?" he asked cautiously. "Can I come in?"

The doctor rolled her eyes. "I just told you to, didn't I?"

Awkwardly, Atsushi staggered inside and carefully closed the door behind him walking hunched down towards her.

"What can I do for you, Atsushi-kun?" she finally sighed and turned around in her chair.

The fidgety teen opened his mouth several times to speak before he finally was able to find the right words. "Something happened when I was watching Dazai-san at the hospital," he told her lowly and averted his gaze away from the intimidating woman. Yosano snapped back up, dread and wariness creeping up on her. No news about Dazai had been good since they got him back, and something told her that this wasn't an exception.

"What happened?" she inquired, taking on a serious town and digging her eyes into the teen. She didn't want to scare the kid, but if he deemed what had happened important enough to ask her about it, she was sure it wasn't something insignificant.

"Well," Atsushi drawled, fidgeting uncomfortably with his hands as he was prone to do- Yosano recognized it as a subconscious reaction to being uncomfortable and nervous, which seemed to be all the time. "I was bringing him some food and got tripped up on the doorframe to his room," he stuttered out, scratching the back of uneven white hair.

Yosano released a sigh in momentary relief. "Oh," she breathed heavily. "Where did you hurt yourself?"

Dual-colored eyes widened. Atsushi raised his hands in front of himself and waved her off. "No, no, that's not what I meant! I'm fine, I... I might have a bruised my knee a little, and a shallow cut in my palm, but it's fine!"

Still, Yosano held her hand out, waiting for the teen to show her this supposedly shallow cut. She was the doctor, if a wound was insignificant or not was up to her to decide. Reluctantly, Atsushi placed his hand in her hers, palm up, and watched her as she examined his hand closely.

"I can't see anything."

"Yeah, I... I have a healing ability, remember?"

The deadpanned look on Yosano's face seemed annoyed, but Atsushi figured she was more annoyed with herself than him- at least, he hoped so. He retracted his hand back, grabbing it tightly towards his chest as he finally said what he had come in to say.

He told her about Dazai's reaction when he had stumbled into the room, the desperate look in those bruised eyes that looked like he was seeing a whole different world, the distressed and urgent way his body had jerked off the bed and onto the floor, clawing at the broth and broken glass that gnashed between his teeth when he tried to scoop up as much as he could before he would be removed from it.

Yosano listened wistfully at the boy's recollection of the events earlier that day, only speaking when Atsushi had covered everything up to the point of him knocking on her door.

"I hate to say that I'm not surprised," she stated tightly, the coolness in her voice warming just a fraction before she elaborated. "Unfortunately, what Dazai has been through can affect the brain in a lot of different ways. The starvation, lack of oxygen," she paused, biting the inside of her cheek not to get emotional.

"Torture is a powerful tool, Atsushi-kun. Even if Dazai didn't _ break, _ " the last word was said with a venomous disdain, " _ technically, _back then, his brain chemistry is very much affected. Restricted access to food, malnourishment, and excessive weight loss can cause changes to the brain chemistry, so he might have experienced some kind of psychosis, caused by the sound of the platter shattering. When you add that he got his oxygen supply cut repeatedly, we might even talk about a traumatic brain injury."

The last words seemed to trigger something in the tiger-boy. He seemed to jump in his seat, nearly unnoticeably but enough to make his chair scrape on the linoleum floor. "Brain injury?" he asked frightened, the yellow in his eye seeming to brighten sharply.

Again, Yosano sighed and made a motion with her hands to make him calm down. "I've been reluctant to use that term around you guys. It's not necessarily as bad as it sounds. Really, if you analyze some of Dazai's more strange behavior," she stopped herself from adding _ 'from before', _"I actually assume that he already suffers from it to some extent. Who the hell knows what was done to him in the mafia?"

"A traumatic brain injury can cause cognitive difficulties, affecting things like your ability to concentrate, make decisions, taking unnecessary risks, completing tasks."

"Huh," Atsushi hummed, almost humorously in realization. Yosano smirked lightly before she continued her list.

"Your personality may change, becoming more irritable or temperamental, getting easily frustrated... Your expressions might seem unfit to the situation..." Yosano went silent for a short while after that. Atsushi seemed to think the same thing.

Finally, the doctor cleared her throat. "A-anyway, some more tests would need to be made to diagnose that. And as long as everything is as fresh as it is right now, none of us can really expect him to be okay yet. But, if it turns out that he does, in fact, suffer from TBI, just know that people can recover from it. It might take a while, it varies from person to person, but just because things aren't too good now, doesn't mean that it won't be. Okay?"

Thoughtfully, Atsushi bobbed his head faintly. "Okay," he agreed, barely above a whisper.

The rest of their conversation was cut short by an urgent knock on the infirmary door, and it opened before any of them could answer.

* * *

Fukuzawa had isolated himself in his office since they went back to work after the rescue mission. It was difficult to focus on anything but the occurrences from the past weeks, but the pile of paperwork stacked on his desk was close to reaching his own respectable height of 6'1- at least, that's what it felt like, and it didn't seem to diminish no matter how many late nights he pulled.

His arms moved automatically as he made his way, skimming through documents and signing his name in increasingly incomprehensible chicken-scratches.

Burying himself in his work was one thing the seasoned assassin new how to do expertly. Yet, it still wasn't enough to keep the images of one of his precious people in a bloody heap on that ice-cold stone floor, gasping weakly for his next breath. _ Those bastards didn't even allow him the simple right of oxygen. _

He didn't know how long he had zoned out when his phone rang. Picking it up and looking at the display, the silver-haired man grimaced. Usually, he would be delighted to see any of his old friend's names on the caller ID, but the last time he had spoken with General Chiba Kano hadn't actually been a joyous occasion.

With a heavy lump forming in his stomach, he accepted the call and placed the phone against his ear.

"Yukichi Fukuzawa," he introduced himself firmly, waiting anxiously for the other man to explain his reason for calling.

"Good day, Fukuzawa-sama, I hope I don't catch you at a bad time?" the ragged baritone crackled at the other end.

"Not at all, General. But I have to admit that I became quite distressed to receive a call from you." The silence on the other end drew out for a moment longer than what Fukuzawa would have liked.

"So, I take it that you haven't received my parcel yet?" the military official eventually asked hesitantly.

"Which parcel?" Fukuzawa inquired, a bit more urgent than he had meant to, and started rearranging the stacks of mail on his desk, looking for something matching his description.

"It's something we found in the basement of our facility a week ago. I was going to call you about it when I sent it, but between the situation at your end and the investigations into my own team, I haven't been able to get to it until now. Hopefully, I'll be able to get you a thorough report before the weekend. With Saito, or Gavigan, or whatever his name is gone, it hasn't been difficult to get them to talk."

"Good, good," Fukuzawa muttered mindlessly, still looking through his papers. Finally, he found a brown padded envelope with a military postage stamp and quickly ripped it open.

"I think I found it," he announced into the receiver as he emptied the partridge onto his desk. A small USB port bounced out with a small clack. Something horribly foreboding made it go cold up the director's spine.

"What is on this?" he asked grimly, holding the small blue object between his thumb and index, inspecting it closely.

"I'm not sure how to explain," the general said earnestly. "Honestly, I wasn't sure if I should give it to you or not. It's content is quite distressing. But... it might give you some answers."

Fukuzawa swallowed thickly, holding onto the small tech-piece tightly enough to make the dull edges jab into his palm.

"Thank you, Chiba," he replied thickly. In situations like these, formalities seemed so unimportant. There was a small sense of comfort in calling an old friend by his first name. If distancing himself just a little from a reality that seemed to be as cruel as it could get was the best he could do to keep himself from breaking down and help him be strong for his team; then, the simple gesture of calling his friend by his actual name was something he wouldn't deny himself.

A sense of warmth returned to the voice on the phone. "Anytime, old friend. Call me if you need anything, all right?"

The two men ended their call.

Fukuzawa took a moment to relax into his office chair. Apparently, whatever was on this disk would reveal something about what had seemed to be a senseless act of cruelty towards their comrade and friend. They already knew that it had everything to do with the Saito-case that Dazai had been working on, but exactly what? Only two people could possibly answer that. One of them was wanted and the other was too injured and traumatized to talk.

The memory of Dazai clutching desperately onto Yosano as his only life-line to reality still haunted his thoughts every time he let his guard down. It was a position he had vowed to never put any of his allies in. When he had accepted Dazai into the Agency, well aware of his past in the Port Mafia, he had sworn that he would protect the kid from ever having to fight for his life all on his own again. Much like he knew Dazai had done with Atsushi, in his own peculiar way.

He couldn't help but feel like, against all odds, Dazai had succeeded in doing so, so much more than him. Mostly because Dazai had actually done what he had set out to do.

Reluctantly, Fukuzawa opened up his laptop and installed the external harddrive that popped up after he had put it in the USB port. A few clicks later, and a folder with what seemed like an endless supply of video files opened on his dashboard.

Small previews of grizzly scenes appeared one by one as the file loaded. That was all he needed.

Abruptly, the tall man got up from his seat behind the desk and marched out of his office, not bothering to close the door behind him.

"Kunikida," he ordered sternly as he peeked into the joint offices of the rest of his men before he continued towards the infirmary. He walked with long, purposeful strides towards the closed door, giving it a few courtesy knock before barging in.

Atsushi and the doctor looked startlingly at him as he gave Yosano a pointed glare. "Yosano, I need you in my office, right now," he directed sharply, disappearing as quickly as he had entered. The woman sobered instantly, jumping to her feet and ambled after him.

Only when they reached Fukuzawa's office, Kunikida already in place, did Yosano speak.

"Director, what's wrong?"

The silver-haired only pointed to his screen and clicked on a random video file when Yosano and Kunikida were in place behind him, looking over his shoulder.

"What-" Kunikida started, but paused as the media player popped up, showcasing a black screen for several seconds before the screen flickered a few times, and a large, dimly lit room came on display. The edge of the window stated a time and date, about two weeks after Dazai went missing.

The room was sparsely decorated, with a single chair and a long table in the center of the picture. Brown leather straps were attached to both furniture. It was difficult to see on the distorted image, but dark tell-tale patches seemed to be splattered randomly all over the floor.

"Where did you get this?" Yosano spat in surprise. Fukuzawa hushed her abruptly, leaning closer to the computer and increased the volume. It sounded like a door opening out of view. Several footsteps approached, one pair audibly dragging across the floor.

Five men came into view. One tall and broad in a long white coat trailing ahead, followed by three men in standard military issued uniforms. Lastly, was Dazai, half limping, half being dragged between two of the men until he was pushed onto the chair and violently strapped down.

He didn't look like he was fighting at all. The excessive display of force was alarming, not that Dazai's condition now nor on the video made it seem like they had gone easy on him.

A flash of blue light buzzed intimidatingly from a device in one of the men's grip. Fukuzawa paused the video.

"What is that?" he shuddered and pointed towards the flashing lights on the screen.

"Caddle prods," came immediately from Yosano. She had recognized the burns the instant she had seen Dazai's bare chest back when they had found him. The nearly black burn marks were still etched into her memory from her time training under Mori. It was one of his own personal favorites when interrogating, and not all of the scars she had recognized on Dazai's unbandaged form had been new.

Considering the incomprehensible amount that littered his bare flesh, few of them were, actually.

But, she wasn't going to reveal that. Even if she personally felt that it was important for the rest of the agency to know and understand what she now did- what Dazai was actually carrying under his bandages, this wasn't the time. They had all seen him now, but she knew that they didn't quite comprehend the true weight that those old wounds held on their colleague's body. But most importantly, as much as she wanted to tell them about all the pain the ex-mafioso must have been burdened with already before all of this happened, it really wasn't her decision to make.

"I don't think I need to explain to you what those are supposed to be used for," she added bitterly instead, looking at the paling faces of her male coworkers.

Fukuzawa and Kunikia both stared at her. The director's steel grey eyes were filled with horror and sorrow as he uttered a silent, "No," and unwillingly pressed the space bar to continue the video.

The two other lower-ranked officers drew out their own shock-sticks shortly after, hovering intimidatingly, albeit ineffectively, around their stubborn colleague. Despite Dazai's bloodied face, he smiled from ear to ear _ (that same smile that never had seemed to reach his eyes) _and looked between the three men.

The man in the white coat, the one they recognized as Dan Saito from pictures closed the distance between himself and Dazai.

"All these men with glowing sticks. It feels like I'm at a fifth-grade disco," Dazai chirped melodically, wiggling his bound shoulders as if dancing.

Fukuzawa couldn't help but feel a little proud of his subordinate as the annoyed expressions of his captors became noticeable. Despite the gravity of the situation, an amused smile tucked at his lips which he hid by covering his mouth with his hand.

Kunikida sighed dolefully. "It's bittersweet to see him like that." Yosano nodded in agreement.

An exchange of words none of them had perceived clearly resulted in one of the prods being poked at Dazai's side. The man strangled a cry, writhing against the tight straps and heaved for air the moment the stick was pulled away.

Dan Saito was merely inches away from Dazai's face when he shouted loud enough for the sound of Fukuzawas speakers to distort.

"Why did you do it? What the hell had she ever done to you? Huh?"

Dazai twisted his head away from the man, the only thing he could do to create some sort of distance between himself and the gaping hole howling accusations at him, a frown obvious on his face.

"My answer won't change from yesterday, Dan. I did not kill your daughter."

"Niko?" Kunikida asked disbelievingly. "Does he think Dazai had something to do with her drowning?"

"Lies!" Saito roared, His fist connected with Dazai's face. His head was thrown back in a quick, nauseating angle and the chair he was tied to creaked by the sudden motion, tipped and fell back. Dazai hit the ground with a low grunt. For a nerve-wracking moment, Dazai's head kept bobbing back and forth, dazed and half-conscious. The three lower-ranked officers hurdled around the chair and picked them back up.

It was impossible to know if Dazai was all the way awake or not with his head tilted back, dangling limply out of view. After a short while, he was finally able to wrench it back up, but it still fell forward, chin resting on his chest for a moment.

Fukuzawa's hand was moving to close the window, believing the interrogation to be over with the collapse of their coworker, but a quiet eery laugh hummed through the speakers, making him pause. Dazai's upper body was shaking lightly as he slowly rose to look his torturer in the eyes. A thick trail of blood ran from both of his nostrils and a dark, red patch that would unmistakably turn into a bruise in a couple of hours was concentrated around his left eye.

"Maa~" he complained obnoxiously, twisting away to spit out a mouthful of blood. "How do you expect to make me talk if you keep knocking me out? It's a method as ineffective as it is stupid."

Dazai eyed Dan Saito closely with a crooked grin, waiting for his next move. As sure of himself as the bandaged man acted, it was easy for the three onlookers behind the screen to recognize that he was still addled from the hit he had taken. Because, if he had been all there, he wouldn't have forgotten to watch his back.

At the same time, three cattle-prods sparked up behind him and were quickly pressed against the tired man. One on each side of his rib cage, and one on his neck. This time, Dazai couldn't keep himself from cry out in immense pain. His body convulsed violently from the electric shock running through his body. The moment they let go, Dazai was slumped over in his bonds, unmoving.

This time, it was over.

Kunikida reached over Fukuzawa's shoulder and clicked the repulsive video away and pressed the laptop shut in one determent motion.

"I can't watch anymore," he breathed shakily and pulled back with his arms crossed. The image of his partner being tortured and knowing that it would only get worse and extended to a period of six months made him sick.

Standing up, Fukuzawa turned to face his successor solemnly, laying a large callused hand on the detective's shoulder.

"I understand that. But unless Dazai is capable of talking to us soon, or at least make a written statement, this is the only way we can know for sure what happened. Even then, there's no guarantee that we will learn the whole truth. We all know how Dazai tends to downplay these kinds of things. General Kano is interrogating the accomplices, but we don't know if they will be telling the truth of what went down in there either. I really don't see a way around it, at least not if we want to help Dazai the best way possible."

"I'll watch them," Yosano stated impassively, gaining both of their attention. "Don't worry, Kunikida-san. You don't have to watch anymore if you don't want to. Neither do you, chief."

"Are you sure?" Fukuzawa asked warily. He knew that watching such atrocious acts would stir up some very unpleasant memories for her.

"Of course," she murmured simply without missing a beat. "I am a doctor, after all. I can observe violence and injuries more objectively than you can."

The director watched the woman thoughtfully.

"Okay," he agreed reluctantly. "But I will watch them with you. You shouldn't have to take on this burden all by yourself. I don't care how much of this you have seen before. None of us should be alone with this."

Yosano smiled up at the man wistfully. "Thank you."

* * *

As expected, the acts committed against their colleague became more and more meticulous. Already in the next video, only a day after the first one they had watched, it seemed like they had taken Dazai's advice about being too aggressive to heart. During the next weeks, the torture became smarter and more, well, _ torturous. _Instead of the massive hits and kicks like the first two weeks of footage showcased, came long, slow sessions. On the first day, his finger and toenails were crushed and slowly ripped away. Small bones would be broken by heavy pressure, and joints dislocated and set back in place. The cattle-prods were still used generously to control Dazai and they would still go overboard with the beatings quite frequently when Dazai was being in a particularly difficult mood. Yosano suspected that he manipulated them into doing that when he felt as if he couldn't take much more, and was tempted to admit to something he didn't do.

It was strange, observing the mental decline of Dan Saito during the first month. General Kano had never experienced the man as expressly unstable or cruel. He had reportedly been an excellent scientist, albeit a bit engrossed in his work. According to other statements, he did display some borderline obsessive involvement with his daughters and talked excessively about their scholar achievements and Niko's swimming career.

Yosano couldn't be sure what they meant by an "obsessive involvement" with his children. At which point did being an attentive and involved parent become borderline obsessive? Many could be over the top, she supposed, but it was the description of 'obsessive' that struck her as odd.

The death of his daughter had been a tragic accident, and he had every right to be crushed. They had all been worked up about it. But why he had gotten the notion of Dazai having something to do with it? It didn't make any sense. There was still a large, significant missing piece to all of this.

"Maybe Ranpo could deduct something from this?" she mused thoughtfully, shifting in the chair Fukuzawa had sat out for her. After the first hour, her legs and back had become tired, and the older man had cursed himself for being too distracted to offer her a seat sooner. Now, after three hours of watching a varied amount of scientists and military officers trying to exercise the sinister parts of their imaginations into new effective methods of torture, her butt was starting to complain too.

The tall man shook his head lightly. "Perhaps, but I don't want him to see this. I chose you and Kunikida because I thought you could handle it. He's… softer." He thought back on that cold basement, at his foster son's distraught and utterly helpless expression after seeing Dazai for the first time on half a year. Ranpo had seen his fear share, they all had, but something shattered that day. A piece of the strong wall built up around the genius detective coming crumbling down into his hands. Ever since; that carefree smile had dulled- and it _hurt. _

Yosano didn't argue. She knew it too. Instead, she let out and elongated breath and hit the play button on yet another video, containing eight hours of choked cries and new patches of blood on the floor.

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**I've been trying to use twitter for updating people on the progression of my stories, upcoming chapters etc, but I've come to realize that I don't really like twitter. But you can follow me on Tumblr instead (MissTinfoilHat). Feel free to message me and ask how things are progressing or make suggestions!**


	25. 26

Chapter 10: #26 I finally lost track of which prompts I've done and not and am too lazy to check

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Yosano and Fukuzawa stayed in the director's office all through the night. It was impossible to get through all of the videos in one sitting. It seemed like Dazai had been videotaped every moment of his captivity, both through the interrogations and in his cramped cell. A steady decline of both his mental and physical health was noticeable, all though he stayed strong and kept the mischievous shimmer in his eye through the torture, the footage from the cell was much different.

It showed a hurt and tired man at the edge of his ropes, pushed further than anyone should ever have to be pushed and staying stronger than any man should be able too; none of which came as a surprise to any of them.

Dazai stayed stubborn and defiant until moments of consciousness became few and far between, and his body acted purely by human instinct, whimpering and cowering away when hit.

About four months into his imprisonment, Dazai had stopped talking altogether, likely from the inability to, and was left heaving as a man out of his wits with grief wailed for him to confess to a crime that Dazai at that point was unable to voice his guilt for even if had been the one to kill the girl. Any solider that would voice their uncertainty about their actions would be physically punished, Dan Saito never having a cattle prod far from his reach.

Eventually, most of the videos had Dazai bedridden at a hospital-looking place, being stabilized and worked back to half-consciousness until he was eventually dragged back to the cell.

At six in the morning, Yosano slapped the screen down and stated unrelentingly, "We're taking him back here _ today. _"

* * *

Dazai's throat was as dry as sandpaper. His chest felt too tight and the loose shirt he had been dressed in felt violently constricting despite falling loosely against his skeletal frame, but the soft blue and fluffy cardigan felt good against his paper-like skin. It wasn't like the scratchy material of his hospital gown. Also, it was made with love. And love was nice and bright and safe- a little rough around the edges but nice all the same.

Despite the warm sweater, he felt cold all the time. Kunikida had tucked the cardigan cozily around him _ (nice soft safe) _ so he wouldn't catch a chill, but he had only succeeded in making it feel like a straightjacket. His better arm tugged futilely at his collar while he tried to remember how to breathe.

Kunikida walked carefully behind him, rolling the wheelchair down the bleak hospital corridors with Yosano and Fukuzawa on each side. Every few steps, Dazai switched to make sure they were still there.

Today, he was going _ home. _ Not _ home _ as to his dorm, but back to the Agency where they would take care of him in the infirmary instead of in the hospital.

This awoke a whirlwind of strange and scattered emotions in his battered chest. First and foremost, he was happy to get out of there (cold, noisy, unfamiliar, intimidating), but he had also gotten used to the two-hundred-and-sixty-four ceiling tiles (clean, white, safe). He had never counted those at the infirmary. Maybe there was the same amount as in…

Just the thought made him shudder and inch together, and he squeaked as a firm hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Are you ready?" Fukuzawa smiled solemnly. Dazai didn't like that expression on his boss. It didn't suit him and made it feel like he'd done something bad because smiles weren't supposed to be sad like that; sad and unnatural and forced like his own. They should be pure and happy like Kenji's or Atsushi's, but he hadn't seen either of those grins in a long time. He hoped he would get to see them soon, but he knew he had to get better fast for that to happen.

"Dazai? Did you hear me?"

He shook himself out of his musings and looked around, realizing they were by the exit. A cold chill ran down his spine, but not because of the cool breeze that emitted through the automatic sliding doors.

Dazai promptly remembered that he hadn't been outside in over six months. For that half-year, he wanted nothing more than to feel the fresh air brush through his hair and hear the sounds of creeks bubbling over rocks and branches, the shrill chirps of birds, and feel the heated sensation of sunshine against his skin. But now, the lack of walls seemed absolutely debilitating.

Subconsciously, his back pushed against the back of the chair, and his ruined fingertips dug into the armrests. Almost unnoticeably, he shook his head and stared back at the president with pleading eyes.

"W-wait?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking in his raw throat. The chair halted.

"I'll bring the car closer," Yosano informed, picking up on Dazai's unease and left the hospital with calm strides, letting Dazai get as much time as possible to brace himself.

"You can take as much time as you need, Dazai-kun. We're not in any hurry," Fukuzawa stated firmly.

It was stupid, Dazai thought. If anything, the world should be scared of him. Not that he could do much at the moment, but he had proved before that he didn't actively need to participate for everything to turn to shit. It just tended to crumble and burn around him.

He wanted to tell Kunikida and Fukuzawa that he was fine, that he didn't need their comfort and reassurance, but for some reason, he could neither convince himself of that nor actually state the words.

Not only was his voice useless, but words tended to get stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth. His vocabulary hadn't been this limited since he was a toddler. Yosano had said something about brain damage, and bitterly, he had to admit that it made sense. If the countless knocks against his head weren't enough, the repeated oxygen deprivation would have done the trick.

At some level, he wished his mind would have been broken enough for him to not understand what was going on with him, but it wasn't. It felt clear as always, despite all the ridiculous bouts of panic that would strike him whenever… well, all the time, actually.

Shortly after, Yosano's large black pulled in only a few feet from the entrance.

"Are you ready?" Kunikida murmured and slowly moved the chair forward, but stopped the moment he felt Dazai draw back.

Wide, owlish eyes stared stiffly at the door, and without Dazai really noticing, his hand grasped at Kunikida's fist around the handlebar.

"N-no," he wheezed, voice choked on a cough. "C-can't."

Kunikida and Fukuzawa shared a look, before Kunikida kneeled in front of the chair to get at eye-level with his partner.

Dazai looked terrified but deeply ashamed.

"No one's going to get to you. We've got you. You're safe," Kunikida stated firmly and smiled as confidently as he could.

Dazai grimaced and looked away. "I k-know. 's stupid," he croaked almost soundlessly.

"After what you've been through, I don't think it's stupid at all," Kunikia frowned. "Will you please let me help you"?

"No choice." Dazai looked away.

Kunikida's frown deepened as he got back up. Without another word, he carefully wormed his hands under Dazai's back and knees an hoisted the light-weight into his arms as if he weight nothing, which wasn't far from the truth.

Dazai let out a silent welp, and clutched onto his partner as tightly as his feeble body could manage.

"Close your eyes if you need to. We'll only be outside for a moment and then we'll be inside the car. Do you remember the scented tree that hangs from Yosan's rearview mirror?" Kunikida asked and Dazai nodded curtly. "She got a fresh one just for today, cause she remembers how much you hate the smell."

As broken as it sounded, Kunikida recognized the quiet hum with glee as Dazai chuckled lightly, shortly followed by a childish pout. To his side, Fukuzawa smiled approvingly.

"Ready?" he asked lowly, pleasantly, and Kunikiad felt Dazai nudge a bit closer to his chest.

"As ready as we will be," he replied fondly and stepped out into the rain, holding his precious load securely.


	26. Chapter 26

Hey! To anyone interested in following the "Elegy" story further, I'm making it a story of its own. It became too messy having it on here, and I hadn't anticipated it to turn into whatever it has turned into! I will update all the previous chapters as well as a new one within the next thirty minutes or so!


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